


The Wolf of the Champion

by FormallyKnownAsFreya



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dramatic, Explicit later on, Gay Sex, M/M, Pining, Psychological Trauma, Rescue Missions, Slow Burn, Trauma, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:39:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FormallyKnownAsFreya/pseuds/FormallyKnownAsFreya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris receives a letter that couldn't possibly be true. After coming to terms with what it means he ventures to Ferelden in the hopes of finding the Inquisition, to find out the truth and possibly get vengeance. Perhaps there was still a way to change things...</p><p>Potentially Explicit as the Chapters go on, you've been warned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There were only three words Fenris could still read, his eyes tunnel visioned on them blurring out the rest on the weathered parchment:

_Hawke is gone._

Fenris blinked. What did that mean? What did ‘gone’ mean? Did it mean Hawke was...dead? That thought alone sobered him up and allowed his eyes to refocus. He read the letter again slowly, carefully, in case he made a mistake. He must have read wrong. Afterall, he only just learned to read over the past couple years. Clearly the error must have been his own.

_I’m sorry, Fenris, to be the one to tell you. This isn’t easy to write and it’s harder to say. I hope you’re sitting down and not in a crowded place like the tavern. Hawke is gone._

A joke Fenris thought. One in poor taste but a joke nonetheless. It must be. As if Garrett Hawke would allow himself to be killed. Ludicrous. But there was more to read.

It was vague on details but went on to say he was a hero to the very end. He sacrificed himself for the greater good. Stories will be told of his heroism into the next age, if Varric had to spread it to Tevinter himself. The Champion of Kirkwall would be remembered for all times as a protector of Thedas.

There was more but Fenris stopped himself. Could it be a forgery? Some trick to strike at Hawke through his allies? His friends? But the handwriting was Varric’s. He was fairly certain of it. But that would mean...No, it couldn’t be.

“Isabella. Aveline,” he spoke aloud. If it were true they would have one as well, one of these letters.

He ran towards The Hanged Man from his stolen mansion. Down the city streets, through groups of people who waved and shook their fist at him for shoving. He didn’t care; he needed to find the truth. And Hawke’s closest friends would know what to do.

Fenris pushed into the door panting with sweat glistening on his brow. Hightown to Lowtown was no short distance. The bar was nearly empty except for a few regular drunks starting on their noontime rounds as he hoped Isabella would be. Her usual stool was empty with only the bartender behind the counter cleaning glasses.

He strode up to the bar and asked, “Isabella, where is she?”

“She’s out at sea for another month,” Lucky said, his accent heavily Ferelden. “You’ve a message for her? I was told to hold all her messages until she returned.”

“Let me see her messages,” he leaned on the counter.

“Oy now. I can’t be giving you her private letters,” he started but flinched when Fenris began glaring.

“I will not ask twice,” Fenris warned him, resisting the urge to glow. If he didn’t comply soon he’d have a new nickname; Unlucky.

The bartender gathered up all the letters and handed them over as the last thing he wanted was to anger this man further. Fenris sifted through them quickly. Some sported enough cologne to drown an Orlesian in but he found one with Varric’s seal. The Tethras seal. His stomach knotted a little as he broke the wax and opened it to read, despite the look of shock on Lucky’s face.

Hawke is gone.

The same message but with small differences. Coincidence he decided. This meant nothing. Only that it could be an elaborate scam. Someone forged Varric’s writing. And stole his seal. And knew their addresses. He’d seen bigger conspiracies than this while a slave. It couldn’t be true.

Aveline. She was smarter than all of them put together. She would confirm his suspicions; that it was all some elaborate lie. He tossed the letters at Lucky, scattering them all over the bar floor, before he stormed out the door and slammed it hard enough to bust one of the hinges.

He power walked back up to Hightown. The last thing he wanted was to get flustered over nothing, so he slowed his pace and calmed his nerves. And maybe part of him wanted to delay seeing Aveline as long as possible. In case...in case what? He scolded himself for thinking, even for a second, that he might be wrong.

Fenris trudged his way up the stairs and received a few stares from nobles waiting to see whoever the hell was running this circus anymore. He ignored them and continued to the barracks. A few of the city guards recognized him and gave a nod to let him through. He’d practiced with them in the courtyard while Hawke was gone; to keep his skills sharp.

“Here to see the Guard Captain, Ser Fenris?” a female guard asked.

“Yes, is she here or on patrol?” he asked, looking around the barracks; he’d long given up on telling them to stop calling him Ser.

“She’s in her office with her husba-I mean, Guardsman Donnic. But she’s asked that we not bother her unless it is urgent,” the male explained.

“It is,” Fenris assured them and pressed on.

He descended the steps outside her door and didn’t bother to listen or knock before flinging it open. Donnic was standing in front of her desk and jumped at the sound. Aveline frowned at the intrusion as Fenris stomped in.

“Did you receive this?” Fenris shook the letter, nearly tearing it.

Aveline furrowed her brow and solemnly nodded.

“Should I…?” Donnic looked at the door, trying to excuse himself.

“Yes, and close the door,” Aveline sighed.

Donnic bowed and left, closing the door as gently as possible so as not to disturb the silence. It was not silent for long.

“Do you believe this...this...tripe?” Fenris asked, slamming it on her desk. “A trick or-”

“Fenris,” she tried to stop him.

“No details and no body?” Fenris continued.

“Fenris,” Aveline said louder, bringing a hand to her forehead.

“As if Hawke were fool enough to get killed-”

“Fenris!” she shouted, louder than she would have liked and with a tone pleading him to be quiet. “I have mourned enough to be reminded of it again.”

“Again?”

“I received that letter three days ago...I received them all days ago...I needed time to adjust before sending them out to you all...Compose myself for...so many…unanswerable questions,” she shook her head. “I was speaking with Donnic about it just before you came in. Well, I was about to. It’s just too hard to believe.”

Fenris stood there staring at the Guard-Captain of Kirkwall. Now that he looked at her he could see dark circles under her eyes. A chapped lip from where she’d been biting. Her own letter that she pulled out was covered in wet spots, the parchment running with ink. She believed it to be true. Aveline Vallen thought the Champion dead. Hawke dead.

If even she believed it...

He sank to the floor until his knees were touching cold stone. She had to be wrong. He looked down at the letter. Looking on it with new eyes he could see it was certainly Varric’s writing. The way he did his ‘v’ was too specific to him. Did that mean it was true? He didn’t have an emotion to express.

“Fenris?” Aveline swallowed back the tears she wanted to shed. “Fenris?”

She was so far away he could barely hear her. Gone? He would never see Hawke again? His smile. The way he combed his beard. His hearty laugh after a bad joke. The glimmer in his eye before casting lightning. He would never see those again?

“I’m sorry Fenris,” Aveline came out from behind her desk and knelt next to him.

What about morning tea? The kind Leandra used to make that Hawke had only recently mastered since her passing. Or that balancing staff trick? He was finally getting good at it. Or rainy day training in the wounded coast? They used to go to that old slaver cave and start a fire. Then talk about their future before devolving into kisses and gropes.

He would never kiss Hawke again. Hold his hand. Rub his beard into Fenris’ neck.

Aveline placed her hand on top of his. He hardly reacted, his body felt numb. He wanted to cry as she was crying but he couldn’t even manage a tear. Fenris removed her hand from his, picked up the letter, and stood without a word. He made so little sound it was as if he weren’t breathing.

And with nothing more to say he walked out the door.

He walked down the steps of Viscount's Way.

Then the familiar streets to Danarius’ dilapidated mansion.

Through the door and up more stairs to the fireplace he often sat at.

He remembered them sitting together in front of a roaring fire as Hawke patiently, so patiently taught Fenris to read. If Fenris was hard to take on a normal day, he was insufferable as a student. He was so sure that Hawke wanted to give up on teaching him, tantrum after tantrum. In his frustration Fenris would threaten to throw everything, the books, ink, the quills, and Hawke into the fire to be done with it.

But Hawke would chuckle and calmly redirect him back to his work without making him feel like an idiot. He would take his place back at the warm fire, Hawke’s hand on his shoulder, as he tried writing his letters again while phonetically sounding them out.

The fire was nothing but dark ashes now. Would it ever be warm again?

How did this happen? Whose fault was his death? Hawke? The Maker? His for not going with him? How long was the list of people who deserved death more than Hawke did? That thought made him angry.

The anger rose from his toes up his legs. His torso. His arms burned with rage and crackling heat; if he were a mage everything would be bursting into flames. His hands clenched tight and shook, wanting badly to strike someone. Something. Anything.

The chair next to the table was lifted and thrown at the wall with a yell. Next the other chair. The table, splintering the legs off. The paintings on the walls were ripped down and shredded. Every single vase, glass, and plate shattered in his fury. He took his sword to every stick of furniture in the place. He imagined they were blood mages, slavers, darkspawn and cut them all down.

By the end of an hour he was down on one knee, panting, body ready to cave in. He threw the sword aside with an exasperated roar, illuminating the room with his tattoos. He wondered if he could pull out his own heart. Was it possible? Would it stop this infernal pain in his chest?

But if he died who would avenge Hawke?

He stopped and calmed the lyrium in his skin.

Who killed Hawke? Varric didn’t say. Left out all the details. On purpose? Fenris growled at the very thought that Varric might be trying to protect Hawke’s killer for the sake of the war. Not telling him key details to keep him from finding out. From finding that beardless dwarf and strangling his neck until it popped under the pressure of his gauntlets.

“I will have answers,” he said hoarsely. “If I have to go to Ferelden myself to get them.”

Aveline would not go with him; she had a duty here she would not abandon, not even for Hawke. The people meant too much to her. Isabella was out at sea; she wouldn’t even know of Hawke’s passing for another month’s time. Sebastian in Starkhaven. Anders dead and buried. If he weren’t Fenris would have made that his most recent stop and put him in the ground himself; if it weren’t for that...that abomination there wouldn’t even BE a war. Merrill…

“Merrill,” he grimaced.

Blood mage. She was just as dangerous as Anders but wholly loyal to Hawke. He hated to lower himself to asking HER for help but she was likely the only one amenable to helping him. They did not agree on most things but the most important one they did; Hawke.

They would do anything for Hawke.

He stood and picked up his sword, secured it in place, and slowly walked past all the destruction he wrought upon the room. He stepped over broken plates and pushed over barrels in his way. Stuffing from pillows and shards of glass from wine bottles littered the floor. The door to the entrance was nearly ripped from it’s hinges and he left it wide open as he never intended to go back.

*****

The alienage was bustling but he hardly spared a glance to the slowly recovering slum. So much damage over the years and only now was it getting fixed. Normally, Merrill was outside helping the other elves but today she was strangely absent. Fenris tried to push her door open but found it latched. She was inside. He beat the door hard with a clenched fist.

“Open the door,” he called inside.

No response.

“I will break it down, Merrill,” he growled a last warning.

Shuffling inside. Shoeless steps but heavy as they hit the ground. The latch slowly clicked and the door opened. Merrill looked through the crack, her face wet with tears that were still dripping down her face. She wiped at them but no manner of drying would hide her puffy eyes.

“Fenris, I...I’m not...feeling well,” she explained. “Obviously...you’re not either, I suppose...would you like to come in?”

He nodded and she opened the door for him and closed it once he stepped inside. It was a hovel but in better shape than the mansion he just destroyed. Merrill waved her hand at the chair but he did not sit.

“Can I get you anything to drink? I have...water,” she hiccuped, her voice cracking.

“No,” Fenris shook his head. “Here to discuss Hawke.”

“Discuss? Discuss what?” Merrill grabbed her letter from the bed along with the handkerchief she’d been crying into. It was soaked. “Varric says he’s...gone.”

She looked ready to collapse into a pile of heaving and whimpering at the drop of a hat. Emotional mages always worried him but he remained as stoic as he could manage. He didn’t have time for tears; he had a mission.

“I am journeying to Ferelden come morning,” Fenris informed her.

“What? Why?” Merrill sat down in the chair and drank her cup of water.

“Someone must pay for his death,” Fenris clenched his fists again. “If I have to swim the Waking Sea myself.”

“But Varric didn’t say, I mean, write, that he was...murdered. You think someone killed him?” Merrill’s eyes grew wider at the implications. “Who would...who would do such a thing?”

“Varric wasn’t forthcoming about the circumstances…” Fenris breathed deeply.

He didn’t mention his other concerns. Where was the body if Hawke was really dead? His remains would have been sent back to Kirkwall. To his estate for his brother to handle. Or to give Fenris some closure. Varric had to know he’d doubt the validity of the claim without proof but proceeded to tell him nothing. There were too many questions and Varric had the answers.

“Coming?” Fenris finally looked in her eyes, the gravity of his question upon her.

“To Ferelden?” Merrill asked and looked down at the letter. It was addressed to Daisy. “But it’s across Thedas!”

“I am aware,” Fenris’ patience was wearing thin.

“But he’s gone-”

“Shut up!” Fenris shouted and stepped away from her; certain he might strike her for...what? Telling the truth?

The room was quiet except for the fire crackling in her hearth. Part of him couldn’t accept it. Hawke dead? He could only completely believe it if he saw with his own eyes. And if it really turned out to be true then he’d take down the one responsible. If she wasn’t going to help then he had no further business there.

“Thought to ask, since you called Hawke friend…” Fenris spat and stomped out of her hut, slamming the door as he left.

Merrill only sank into the chair near the fire and cast her eyes upon Varric’s letter again. It would be a lie to say she hadn’t thought about blood magic alternatives to bring Hawke back. That she hadn’t thought of contacting demons through the fade to find more information. But in her weakened mental state the last thing she wanted to do was dream. She didn’t want to make a deal without thinking. Hawke wouldn’t want it either.

But maybe there was something Merrill could do for Fenris; to help him pacify his rage.

*****

Fenris found his way to Hawke’s estate and entered without ceremony; no one would be home except for the servants. There were only three still in the house. Orana was at the door to greet him. She was cheerful; he surmised she did not know anything of Hawke’s passing.

“Ser Fenris,” she nodded. “Ser Hawke has not returned yet. May I help you?”

“No. Thank you,” he said, his eyes softened at her ignorance. It was better not to tell her. “Just grabbing a few things for a trip.”

“Oh! Would you like me to gather some food from the kitchen? What would you like?” she asked excitedly.

“Could you make some… hardtack before morning? Enough for...a few weeks,” he tried not to look too solemn but she hardly noticed.

“Of course Ser! I’ll look for some cheese as well. Would you like me to dry some fruit in the fire?” she smiled.

“Only if you wish,” he told her. “Do not burden yourself with work; the hardtack will suffice. I will be in Hawke’s quarters until morning. Good night, Orana.”

She scurried on her merry way to the kitchen to get started. Fenris hadn’t the heart to tell her about Hawke. Orana would not be able to handle another dead ‘employer’. She loved working there and being helpful; he saw no reason to dampen her spirits. So instead he ascended the stairs without another word.

He slid his hand up the banister with each step and looked at the paintings on the walls. The Amell family crest was featured heavily in all the artwork there. Hawke told him all he knew about his family and his lineage. Now he wished he’d paid more attention to the sound of his voice.

His room was quiet but the fire was going. Dog was laying on the rug. He lifted his head to acknowledge Fenris. When the elf didn’t move or say anything he stood and padded his way to Fenris’ side. He let out a questioning whine.

Fenris knelt down and ruffled his ears. The look on his face told the Mabari all he needed to know; Fenris was hurting. He licked his chin and nuzzled into his chest.

“Hawke...is in Ferelden,” Fenris told him, believing the animal understood speech easily. “I will find him. And bring him home; whatever that entails.”

Dog whined more but Fenris merely patted his head sympathetically before walking to the drawers and grabbing a few things. A warm cloak. A thick scarf. Dog approached with something in his mouth.

“Ugh…” Fenris frowned. He hated shoes.

As much as he disliked being compared to other elves, like those in the Alienage and the Dalish in the woods, this was one thing he agreed with. Shoes made him feel strange. Not having contact with the stone, earth, grass, or dirt made him uncomfortable and it defied explanation for him. He did not grow up in the forests. He did not value elven tradition. But to wear shoes...he shook his head.

“Thank you,” he told Dog. He would pack them in the knapsack in case of frostbite emergency.

Fenris rummaged through desks for a compass. He found some flint stones for starting a fire and tossed them inside as well. It had been so long since he travelled for an extended time, he wasn’t sure what all he needed. Dog approached again with another object; a slightly sloppy roll of bandages.

“Good idea,” Fenris took them and found a few potion bottles too.

Then he opened another clothing drawer and wished he hadn’t. Hawke’s house clothes; the ones he wore while relaxing at home. They were sitting on top, neatly folded. He reached in and scooped them out. After raising them, he buried his face in them and took a deep breath. They still smelled like Hawke. Like ashes after setting a slaver on fire despite the embrium soap Orana used. And the scent of lyrium lingered despite the number of times it was cleaned.

He collapsed into a pile, holding the cloth close to his chest, heart aching to break from his body. No, he said he wouldn’t do this. He couldn’t afford to cave in now. He needed to be strong for Hawke. He put them back in the drawer, afraid they might weaken his resolve to leave, and continued looking for other supplies to bring along.

Dog came padding up once again with a small bag in his mouth. Fenris reached out automatically to put it in the travel bag before he realized what it was. Mabari biscuits. The elf looked to the hopeful Mabari with a sadness in his eyes.

“No, you must stay,” Fenris explained and the dog stopped wagging his stubby tail.

He barked in protest. And then whined.

“Someone must take care of this place, should Hawke...” he hesitated and swallowed. “Should Hawke return…”

Dog came in close and leaned on Fenris with another whine. He missed Hawke too. The Mabari didn’t need to speak common for Fenris to understand that. He encircled his arms around the large sensitive beast with a sigh, scratching at the nape of his neck.

“I suppose I could do worse than you for company,” Fenris sighed.

Dog barked with loud appreciation, nearly deafening Fenris. He stood from the ground and walked to Hawke’s bed. Rest would be prudent if he wanted to leave early. So he laid down his head on the pillow. The pillow which hadn’t felt Hawke’s head in sometime yet still held his lingering scent.

“Hawke…” he closed his eyes and pretended he was there.

He reached out, envisioned touching his face as he slept. Fingers running through that beard he once thought was atrocious but grew to love. Hawke’s large, warm hands on his hips. Thumbs fiddling with his skin and the lyrium tattoos. It always felt like Hawke was able to make the Lyrium in his skin hum with a content resonance. A mage thing likely but he didn’t mind; they never hurt much if Hawke held him.

Fenris tried not to dwell too much on the memories. He’d never sleep otherwise. He felt a weight jump up onto the bed; Dog circled a few times before lying down. Hawke never let him sleep on the bed but Fenris didn’t mind. The animal sensed Fenris’s loneliness. He put a hand out on the creature’s head before going to sleep.

*****

Mornings in Kirkwall were cool. The ocean breeze often reached all the way up to Hightown. The scent travelled right into the window as Fenris readied himself for travel. There were always ships leaving Kirkwall; it would be a small task to find one and pay his way onto it. The money he gathered from mercenary work around the city would easily grant him passage to Ferelden.

Bark!

Well, passage for two. For now he stuffed the bag with the cold weather clothes he’d need once he arrived. Then he secured a light travelling cloak around his neck. The hilt of his sword poked through the opening behind his neck which made him frown. How was he supposed to draw it without destroying the fabric? He took it off and began tearing a hole in the back.

“Ser Fenris! The food you asked for-oh my! What are you doing to the master’s cloak?!” she fretted. “Oh no no no! You’ve ruined it! What will the master think?”

“I’ll buy a new one if he desires it. I need an opening to latch my sword to its place,” he grumbled. “There...that will have to do.”

He removed the sword and put on the cloak. Then re-secured the greatsword on it’s harness. Much better. Now he could stay warm and easily access his weapon. He could even raise his hood to obscure his face if need be. Not everyone looked kindly on elves; it might be easier to find lodging this way.

“Dog, a satchel,” he commanded.

Fenris began tying small saddlebags to Dog to carry some of their supplies, an idea that came to him in his sleep. Dog would carry the food and bandages. Fenris would carry the clothes, tools, and money. It would make travel substantially simpler. He could hear someone knocking on the front door as he tied the final belt on Dog.

“Oh! Another one of Master Hawke’s companions! Tea? Or perhaps some milk?” she asked cheerily.

“I do love tea...And milk? Can I have them both in the same cup? Or is that strange?” Merrill spoke as she came into the room.

Fenris looked up from the ground. It did not take long for him to assess she did not come to travel with them.

“I can’t come with you,” she said, confirming his suspicions. “Kirkwall still needs help rebuilding. There are so many in the alienage who don’t have anywhere to stay. But…”

“But,” Fenris stood and started walking towards the door.

“But I want to help you get there…” Merrill took the tea from Orana and sipped it. She blew on it and a few ice crystals left her mouth before she drank the rest in one long gulp. “I just. I don’t think you’ll let me. What I mean is…”

“Get on with it,” Fenris glared.

“It involves magic...and I know how much you don’t like me. Or magic. Well, I mean, you like Hawke. Or more than like. But he does magic so maybe you won’t be opposed,” she rambled the way she always did.

Fenris scowled and swore in Tevene making Merrill jump. He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for her to continue but more concisely.

“It’s hard to explain,” she said and flinched when he clenched his fist. She turned and continued quietly. “Follow me. It’s better if I show you.”

Fenris and Dog followed behind the blood mage as she walked towards lowtown. Turned a corner into the Alienage; the place he first met Hawke. That night seemed like a lifetime ago. They stopped outside the door to her home. Merrill hesitated.

“Your...abode?” he asked.  
  
“Yes, I have an artifact of our people,” she started and Fenris huffed. “Fine; my people.”

She opened the door to her home and closed it quickly behind them. Merrill beckoned him to her room and he beheld a mirror. It looked damaged in that it was cracked, but every piece was in place, as if it were a repaired puzzle. It gave off a strange hum in his skin. Magic.

At this point he didn’t care what it was. He only wanted to know how it could help.

“How will this help?” he asked.

“Take my hand,” she said and extended. “And hold Dog by his collar.”

He hesitated for a moment, not certain he trusted her. Before he had the chance to debate it further she was waving a hand in front of the mirror and it began to glow. Fenris gripped her hand and Dog by his scruff. The entire surface lit up and rippled. Merrill pulled them forward and through the glass.

Fenris squeezed his eyes shut as they travelled through it and when he opened them he stared in wonder.  

“What is this place?” Fenris whispered quietly, as if afraid of awakening some ancient power.

“I don’t know...It’s like a meeting point. For all the mirrors,” Merrill tried to explain, her voice echoing in the space. “It’s hard to look at them all. So many are broken. Some are dark and corrupted; beyond repair.”

It was cloudy and grey, the air thick and humid. Not unlike a morning in Seheron. The space looked like it should be cold but the air was warm. Warm like magic flowing through the air and caressing his skin. It was making him uncomfortable.

“I’d like to press on. This place…” Fenris huffed, unsure how to describe it.

“This way,” she said and led him to a mirror quite far from where they stood.

It was clear and it was the first he’d seen his reflection in the last couple days. He expected darker circles under his eyes. More disheveled hair. But he had a calm sleep the night before and ran one of Hawke’s combs through his hair out of habit. Perhaps he didn’t look terrible because he didn’t truly believe Hawke was gone.

“This one,” she pointed. “It will take you to the Inquisition, I mean not directly. I went through it once and it’s certainly in Ferelden; something about the smell. So you won’t have to go on a ship...that would take quite a while I think-”

“Through here?” Fenris looked at the mirror. He was not a fan of enchanted objects but he also hated the smell of seafoam and fish; and a month of rocking waves. This versus a ship sounded preferable.

Merrill nodded, gestured towards the mirror, and spoke a phrase in elvish. He understood none of it but the mirror responded to the words. It shimmered and made a ringing sound deep in his ears.

“It will stay open until you walk through but it’ll close once you reach the other side…” Merrill gave a weak smile. “I hope...I hope you’re right.”

“What?”

“I hope Hawke is...still with us. I hope you find him,” Merrill looked down sadly.

“I...thank you,” Fenris nodded. “Are you certain you do not wish to come?”

Merrill shook her head and looked back to the original mirror. Her eyes softened with a small smile. She couldn’t leave. Merrill had grown so attached to Kirkwall and the memories within it. The last thing she wanted was to be away from her new home, searching for the answer to a sad question with someone who found her to be less than favorable company.

“It would be best if I stayed here. Varric says Ferelden is covered in demons and spirits...and you know my feelings on that…” Merrill shrugged with a smile. “I know you don’t like me much. And you dislike physical contact. But in case I never see you again…”

Merrill squeezed him making him grow rigid. She held tight and took a deep breath.

“I will miss your brooding face Fenris. And the insults about the Dalish. Even the cruel comments on my magic. Will you send word once you reach Varric? So I know that you made it there? And word of Hawke if...he’s there?” she whimpered into his cloak.

He allowed her to hug him as much as the contact made him uncomfortable. He appreciated her concern as she meant well. As much as they argued and disagreed on things, they both cared for Hawke. And that trumped all of their other differences.

“I will send word,” is all Fenris said. She released him and gave Dog the same vicegrip treatment.

“Here,” she said and stuffed a few items in Dog’s pack. “A ball of twine in case you get lost; Varric taught me that. And...this little statuette from Hawke. It’s superstitious ‘Dalish nonsense’ but put it on the outside of your camp, facing outward. To protect against evil spirits.”

“I will not,” Fenris huffed.

“I know you won’t. I was talking to Dog,” she chuckled. “Good bye, both of you. May Mythal protect you…”

He rolled his eyes as she walked back to the other mirror to leave. Fenris stood before the shining glass and swallowed his nervousness. It was now or never.

Fenris held fast to Dog’s collar and stepped through its surface, feeling a rush of magic wash over his skin. The warm humidity of the mirror meeting place disappeared immediately to cold and wet. And pitch dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Fenris wished he’d packed a lantern but they were so cumbersome, instead he felt around with his hands. It was a stone room, a shrine...or at least it used to be. The walls were mostly caved in and broken from what he could feel. It was more or less just a cave now. But there was a small light in the distance. An exit, he guessed.

He wasted no time and started climbing carefully over destroyed rocks and pillars. He was grateful that it wasn’t night time, or it might have been even more difficult to leave. Dog followed beside him, sniffing the ground and keeping alert. It did seem a ripe place for spiders or deepstalkers so Fenris listened for any kind of sound.

A soft pop, echoed off the walls.

A fire, he realized. He could hardly hear it crackling in the distance but the smell of ashy wood gave away its presence. Someone was stoking a campfire inside the cave, not far from where they were. 

“Stay alert,” Fenris whispered. “And silent…”

They approached the fire, all the while hearing a mumbling get louder with each step. Two people...no, three...talking about a ship coming in. Fenris’s eyes narrowed, their accent was of Tevinter.

“When will it reach our location?” asked a male voice.

“A few more days,” said a woman.

“A few more days? We have to stay in this stinking cave for a few more days?” asked a man. “Why couldn’t we have stayed in a tavern? We can afford it…”

“But can we afford people spotting the refugees we took? Can’t sell them if everyone in Thedas sees what we’re doing,” the woman scolded. “Now shut up. Before we have to fight spiders drawn to your incessant whining again.”

Slavers. It was only now that Fenris noticed a pile of people lined up against a wall, all tied up and gagged. Most were asleep but one was awake and glaring at the group of Vints warming themselves by the fire. 

Only three. Fenris could take them easily unless...was that a staff? Which one was the mage? He hated fighting mages unless he could sneak up nice and close before they noticed. Which wasn’t likely; the fire illuminated anything too close to them. Smart bunch of slavers. He hated when they were smart. 

“I need to piss,” said the man.

“Kaffas,” she swore. “Like I need to know every little thing you do. Go outside and do it.”

“But it’s raining,” he complained. 

“Then go deeper into the cave you imbecile. No one wants to see what you’ve got,” the woman grumbled with frustration. 

And sometimes he loved when they got stupid. Fenris signaled to Dog to lay low. And they waited. The foolish man walked right past Fenris without noticing and went deeper into the cave. He paused to listen for spiders before relieving himself on the stone walls. 

He never heard Fenris approach.

Without drawing his sword he placed his hands around the slavers neck, twisted and pulled up, snapping it. He laid him gently on the ground so as not to alert the others. He didn’t bring the staff. Fenris never knew a Tevinter mage who wasn’t attached to their staff at all hours of the day, even when they went to piss. 

The woman seemed the leader, she must be the mage. 

“What is he doing? Incaensor, make sure that fool didn’t fall into a hole,” she hissed. 

“Yes, mistress.”

Fenris hesitated as the young man approached with a staff of his own. A teenage mage. Elven slave. At the beck and call of his slaver leader. Incaensor were common in Tevinter. Used as tools by their masters. Two mages in one cave and one he’d rather not kill if he could help it; the boy didn’t know any better. Hawke’s influence, no doubt.

“Ser? Do you need assistance?” the young mage asked. “I can light the way for you, if you wish.”

That was the one thing he did not need. And the boy was about to trip right over the body. He nudged it with his staff and kneeled down.

“Ser, are you-” Fenris muffled the boy.

“Do not speak or it will be the last time you do so, child,” Fenris whispered. “Do you understand?”

The mage nodded.

“I do not like killing slaves if I can help it, but Slavers deserve a shallow grave,” Fenris made his point clear. “If you would like to live, you will drop your staff and remain silent.”

He couldn’t be more than fourteen years. The boy nodded more vehemently. He let go of his staff and Dog caught it before it could clamor to the ground. 

“I have only one question for you,” Fenris whispered. “Do you wish to be free from your oppressor?”

The boy made no movement but the fear showed through his eyes as he glanced at the fire. He was afraid of his master. Fenris uncovered his mouth but kept a gauntleted hand on his throat, ready to crush it.

“She will kill you Messere. She is my master, she takes care of me. I cannot betray her,” he whispered frantically. 

“Did she even bother to learn your name, or does she simply call you ‘slave’?” Fenris asked. 

The disappointed shame in his eyes answered the question for Fenris. He placed the boy onto the ground and told Dog to watch him. The mabari nearly sat on the boy when taking his post as sentinel. Fenris walked towards the remaining slaver, no longer worried about the faceoff with only one combatant. 

“Incaensor. What is taking so long? Worthless boy,” she snarled. “What? Who are-”

She grabbed her staff and immediately cast up a barrier just as his sword came down. Damn, he thought he was faster. The slaver looked around, confused, wondering where her backup was. She snarled at him and flicked her staff to deflect his sword. He jumped back so as to get another running charge in.

Words in Tevene left her lips as she spun the staff summoning a fireball explosion in the campfire, sending ashes and embers in all directions, some reached the awakened and very frightening would-be slaves. 

“You have made a mistake challenging me, fool,” she smirked. 

Lightning shot from the end, missing him but obliterating a stalagmite next to him. He could use them as a shield until he got closer but only if she didn’t blow them all up first. More words in Tevene as she readied another large fireball. This was going to take forever if she kept moving and firing constantly.

“What the- Kaffas!” she swore. 

Her feet were frozen to the ground. Fenris turned to look and saw the young mage holding his staff, frightened but focused. 

“How dare you?! You ungrateful little knife-ear!” she shrieked as she pulled to free herself.

Fenris took this as his chance by lighting up the lyrium in his skin and pummeling the hell out of her shield. She tried to maintain her focus but her eyes were wide with fear. Because of his skin? Because of his feral yell? Because he was destroying her barrier with his strikes and she could not move an inch? 

The barrier gave in and her staff came up to protect her face but to no avail. Fenris simply cut through it. And her. Blood splattered over his cheeks, cloak, and sword but he sighed with relief as the corpse hit the ground in a heap. That was more than enough excitement for one day.

The elven boy fell to his knees, still shaking as he held his staff. Dog put the pole in his mouth and took it from him easily; he didn’t object to it being taken.

“What is your name boy?” Fenris asked as he untied the captives.

“Herren,” he mumbled. “I killed her...Mistress Mariadne...the magisters will have my head…”

“Only if you return to Tevinter,” Fenris agreed. “Do you have any skill with creation magic?”

“A little,” he nodded and looked at the almost-slaves with fireball burns. “But I do not think they will let me help. How can they forgive me? I helped capture them…”

“Under orders from one who would have you killed,” Fenris wiped at the blood on his face and looked at his hand with disgust. “If they refuse your help, it will say more of them than you.”

He still seemed unsure but a woman recently untied placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Her wrists showed evidence of rope burn and her feet had cuts from lack of shoes. Despite all that she gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever, but the one who repents, who has faith Unshaken by the darkness of the world, and boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight In the Maker's law and creations, shall know the peace of the Maker's benediction,” she quoted. 

He looked to Fenris for his thoughts on it but he merely shrugged. 

“It sounds like she’s given you her answer.”

***

Fenris gathered together some of the wood the slavers found and started a new fire while Herren healed the wounds of all who would accept them. Five refugees were saved and they surrounded the fire for the warmth the slavers denied them. Every once in awhile they would look to the mouth of the cave where their savior sat cleaning his weapon with his Mabari at his side. 

“Thank you,” Herren said as he approached. 

“I did nothing you could not have accomplished yourself,” Fenris denied the thanks. 

“I wasn’t certain I wanted to be free...I thought it was safer to obey...and after all the things I’ve done...I hardly deserve it,” he sighed. 

“Where is the nearest town?” Fenris asked, eager to begin travel as soon as the rain let up. 

“I...don’t know,” Herren said, sadly. “I have only recently been out of Tevinter...and I cannot read a map. Or anything.”

Fenris would have to ask the refugees. They would be forthcoming since he’d rescued them from a life of misery. But it was raining far too hard for him to leave now. He would rest up until then. 

After a while one of the refugees approached him. They thanked him for this rescue. And asked if he needed anything, as they would be happy to oblige. He only asked for the nearest town once again and it’s relation to the Inquisition. 

“You’re looking to join the Inquisition, Messere?” the man asked. By now all of the refugees were sitting near his secluded spot near the entrance to the cave. 

“My cousin joined when it began but he was killed at Haven. I heard it was terrible,” a woman spoke. “But that wouldn’t happen to you. It’s dangerous work but you’re a strong warrior. I’m sure you’ve killed dozens of demons.”

“You could probably join up at Crestwood. They’ve got some scouts there recruiting,” another spoke. “It’s about a week’s walk from here. Southwest.”

“You’ll have to look out for them Red Templars and that Darkspawn Magister,” said a woman.

“Magisters?” Fenris narrowed his eyes. Of course a magister was behind it all. 

“Well, one really really bad one; has a dragon at his command, I heard,” said a man.

“No, it was an archdemon, a darkspawn tainted thing. My uncle said he saw it when it attacked Haven,” corrected a young man.

As interesting as the information was, it was nothing surprising to him; magisters would always taint the world with their greed and their magic. The group said they were heading to Highever until it was safer but were captured by the Slavers. Their group would continue that route in the morning. They asked if Fenris would go with them, to protect them on their way. He declined. He had important business with the Inquisition. 

He gathered up anything he could from the slavers of any use. A few sovereigns. Some trinkets. A lyrium potion, though he had no need of it. A shadow stood over him, stepping side to side nervously.

“I’d like to come with you; to Crestwood,” Herren held his staff close. “I think joining the Inquisition will...help me. To find a new path.”

Fenris tossed the lyrium potion to him and he caught it, a look of surprise on his face. He took it as a sign that Fenris did not care if he followed him or not. It wasn’t long before he was ready to travel again. He parted ways with the refugees and began his trek west along the rainy coast, a newly freed tevinter mage following quietly behind him. 

Hawke would have been proud. Not only for saving him but for not disregarding him simply for being a mage. That was one of the things the Champion taught him. Perhaps this boy would grow to be a strong mage like Hawke as long as he wasn’t under the boot of cruel masters. He at least deserved that chance.

The walk for Crestwood was long and arduous with little contact of others. Herren wore a cloak of one of the slavers to hide his face and used his staff as if he were an old man to avoid accusations of being an apostate. Fenris did the same to avoid questions period. 

They found an abandoned stable on the third night. The house itself was burned to the ground but the stable was secure enough to provide a roof overhead, despite some of the walls being torn down for timber. They set up a fire for the night. Herren carried a small pot in which he made an herbal stew. Dog was lucky enough to catch a rabbit and brought it back for them to add.

“Your warhound is something special...I’ve never seen such an intelligent animal in Tevinter,” Herren commented while he stirred the pot. 

“I don’t doubt it. Legend has it that the Mabari were bred in Tevinter years ago and defected against their magister masters once they arrived in Ferelden, so they no longer exist in Tevinter. The closest creature to match the Mabari’s intelligence there now are dracolisks,” Fenris remembered. Danarius had more than a few in his stables. “But they are not as...independent as Mabari are. Or as stubborn.”

Dog barked in agreement with pride. 

“Quite,” Fenris quipped and leaned back on his pack. 

“May I ask you something Messere...uh…” the boy grew embarrassed as he never got his name. 

“Just Fenris. I am no knight or noble,” Fenris told him.

“Fenris? Your name sounds...Tevene,” Herren blinked. “Nevermind my question then.”

The questions he’d have asked. How did he know so much of Tevinter? Why would a stranger help a Tevinter slave? No one would do that. Except perhaps another former slave of the wretched country. So he nodded in understanding and continued cooking their simple meal.

Fenris pulled a slice of the hardtack from the pack and broke it in half with the pommel of his sword. He broke it into more pieces to be sprinkled into the soup to make it thicker. They used tin mugs to eat the stew in silence; Fenris’s preferred way of dining.

He wanted to know more information about the situation in Ferelden but doubted the mage would know much. He could not read. Did nothing without his master’s permission. But perhaps he’d overheard things. After all, a slave was invisible to his master until needed. 

“Do you know of the Inquisition?” Fenris asked after finishing his meal. 

“Mistress said...I mean, Mariadne. She spoke of the growing force of the Inquisition. That it might become too dangerous and difficult to continue capturing people here,” Herren ate more of the rabbit stew. “They did not believe a Magister was behind the explosion at the conclave. Because no one had told them as much. And the name was not familiar to them.”

“Do you remember the name?” 

“No, they became quiet. And said not to speak of it further. They wanted to move to the Free Marches next...Thought it might be safer and easier to do their work,” he sighed, disappointed in the role he played. 

“That all?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Venhedis!” Fenris scowled making the boy jump. “Calm yourself. My anger is not directed at you. If it were, you would know it.”

“Yes, messere. Uh, I mean, Fenris,” he quickly corrected himself. 

When they bedded down for the night he was restless. The last two nights he slept just as badly and chalked it up to sleeping in the wilderness again, like when he was on the run. In no way did he think it was because he missed Hawke. 

Even when Hawke was in Kirkwall, they seldom slept together each night. Fenris could often be found at the broken mansion sleeping on sofas or in front of the fireplace; whatever tickled his fancy that night. There was even a night where he slept on the roof. It worried Hawke when he did that. Hawke ran through the house looking for him, and let out the deepest sigh of relief when he found him. He told  jokes frequently to calm intense situations but that night he cried.

He had been frightened by the thought that Fenris had left again. And this time wasn’t coming back. He assured the Champion that he would not do such a thing and apologized for causing him distress. They then made love on the roof that night, keeping warm in the cool sea air with friction. How many people peeked out their window late that night and caught them? 

Fenris shifted a little closer to the dying fire and Dog. 

Perhaps he did miss the warm laughter whenever Hawke did drop by. Or when Fenris snuck in through his window in the late hours of the night. He simply climbed into the covers without a word needing to be spoken. Without having to declare he missed the mage. It went without saying. And Hawke simply opened his arms and welcomed him in with a chuckle. No questions asked.

A tear slid down his face.

Maybe he missed him more than we was willing to admit.

When day broke they began travelling once again. There were no words uttered between them as they moved. It was a force of habit, Fenris guessed. Neither was used to speaking unless being spoken to. And while walking they had better things to do; like keeping alert for Red Templars. 

They came across a company of them. And while the red lyrium incensed his rage Fenris made the decision to avoid them. Even with a mage and a warhound in his party, they could not take a dozen men in full armor. So discreetly they sank back into the forest to find an alternate route.

Another day passed. Then another. Fenris found himself getting tired earlier in the day. He needed more rest but his mind wouldn’t allow it. Keep moving forward, he told himself. Crestwood was only a few more days away. He forced his feet on, hoping once they arrived he might get a proper night’s rest. One in a bed of warm dry hay instead of wet and muddy dirt. 

They hopped onto the back of a cart a day out from their destination. It was nice to give his feet a rest though his face hardly showed it. Herren took his shoes off and grimaced at the blisters. While the driver was facing forward he healed the open sores with a little magic. He offered to treat a few of the scrapes on Fenris’s feet as well but he shook his head. 

“My body is capable of healing itself,” Fenris told him, but in honesty he only yearned for Hawke’s touch. Only Hawke knew how to heal his wounds without agitating the lyrium in his skin. He did not trust anyone else with it. Fenris was glaring more than he intended at the boy’s staff.

“You dislike mages,” Herren furrowed his brows in realization. 

“Only the ones who do not learn to control their power. Weak mages,” Fenris spelled out.

“Do you think I am weak?”

“When did you come into your power?” Fenris asked while fiddling with the red sash on his wrist.

“I was six...I accidentally froze the floor in the parlor while cleaning,” he chuckled. “I was whipped for the mess and then sold to a new master.”

“You are fifteen or so now?” Fenris guessed. “If a master hasn’t caused you to lower yourself to blood magic by now then you are likely stronger than most. That said, you are young and will always be vulnerable. Endeavor to strengthen your defenses against demons still. Never lower your guard; advice for anyone but especially mages.”

They sat quietly for a time after that. Fenris looked out on the road they were leaving behind and wondered about those in Kirkwall. Isabella still out at sea, pirating along the coast. Aveline arresting Carta members with Donnic. Merrill picking flowers out of the Viscount’s private garden again. If Varric weren’t with the Inquisition, he’d be in the Hanged Man telling the Champion’s Tale for the eighth time that day. 

Fenris looked down upon the crest he wore at his hip and took a deep breath. He wished things were still as they were before Anders blew it all to the void. He caught the boy staring curiously at the symbol and removed it from his waist to show him.

“The Amell family crest,” he explained and allowed the boy to hold it. “A noble family from Kirkwall in the Free Marches.”

“But you’re not from the Free Marches,” Herren said, confusion on his face. “Why carry it?”

“There are two members of the Amell family line still alive,” he started and balked. At least, he hoped there were still two members. He ignored Gamlen and his daughter in respect to this. “One a Grey Warden and an insufferable whiner. The other the Champion of Kirkwall. A great and powerful mage.”

“But you don’t like mages. And that isn’t an answer to my question.”

“Garrett Hawke is the only mage I respect and trust with my life,” Fenris took back the crest and looked at it fondly. “Saved me in more ways than I could ever explain. I owe him my freedom. My life. And more.”

“He is your partner?” the boy asked, a blush on his face from the implication. 

"Yes,” Fenris concluded as he tied the crest back to his side. Dog barked in agreement. 

“Where is he now?” Herren asked.

“I do not know,” Fenris admitted. “Working to find the answer to that question.”

And the Inquisition would be the first step to figuring it out.

The cart finally came to a stop at the entrance of a small village and both elves jumped from their seat. Fenris gave the man a few silver in thanks for the ride and driver took it appreciatively. It was nearly dark; he hoped there was a place for them to stay. Crestwood was not a large village but there had to be somewhere they could sleep.

“Pardon, I’m looking for shelter for the night. Know of anyone with a room or empty stable?” Fenris asked a woman selling vegetables.

“If you’re the paying sort the Inn is over there. Down on your luck I’d recommend some of the houses in old Crestwood now that the lake’s been drained and the corpses cleared out,” she pointed in the direction of what he assumed was old Crestwood. “If it weren’t for the Inquisition we’d still be knee deep in demons and undead.”

“We are willing to pay,” Fenris told her, reluctant to spend yet another night out in the wet mud of Ferelden. 

“Over there then and try to stay out of the Inquisition scouts' way; they are helping rebuild and we don’t want them delayed,” she explained and pointed at the people in green hoods fixing a roof. 

He was interested in speaking to the scouts but at that moment he wanted a meal and a bed more than that. Fenris led the way toward the Inn with Dog and Herren on his heel. The latter was looking nervously around at all the people. He was still not used to people acknowledging his presence.

The man running the counter at the Inn greeted them heartily. He welcomed them to Crestwood and gave thanks to the Maker for the Inquisition that helped save their Inn. Fenris let him get out his spiel and lowered his hood.

“What’s your business in Crestwood, Dalish?” he asked. Fenris ignored the identifier. 

“My business is with the Inquisition but for now we are in need of lodging,” Fenris looked at Herren and nodded his head. The boy lowered his hood. “We can pay and will keep to ourselves.”

“Joining the Inquisition are you, Ser?” he smiled. “Never heard of a dalish giving a shite about anyone but themselves. Except for the Inquisitor, I suppose. She’s dalish, innit? Well, good luck Ser. Here’s the key to yer room. Down that hall and left.”

Fenris paid the man and they went down the aforementioned hall. Herren said nothing as they entered. A single room with a single window. And a single bed. 

“Herren, you and Dog take the bed,” he sighed. He prefered sleeping in front of the fire anyway. 

“The bed, Messe- Fenris?” he stammered. Fenris wondered if he’d ever slept in a bed of his own before. He doubted it. 

“Tis fine,” Fenris told him and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table.

Herren helped himself so some bread and cheese from the table eating them in large bites.Fenris threw a few logs on the fire to stoke it up and made a pillow with his cloak.  He laid himself in front on the fire and ate his apple while staring into its dancing flames. It was better than outside he supposed. And better than waking up every few minutes because of a twig snapping in the distance. 

When he looked over at the bed he found Herren asleep in the covers. The boy was likely as tired as he was, not used to the pace Fenris was setting. He let out a sigh and closed his eyes for a while. It was difficult getting to sleep but he managed to rest for an hour before sitting up with an exasperated sigh.

Too many thoughts. He hated when his mind refused to let him rest.

He needed to walk around so he stood and paced lightly, trying not to wake the other occupants. Looking out the window he could see a group of the green hooded scouts talking around the door of a tavern. One of them smoking a pipe. Speaking with some off duty scouts might fill in some of his blanks.

And something to drink might calm his thoughts enough to sleep. After fastening his cloak back on with his sword in place, he left his companions to sleep, and walked out of the warmth of the inn into the cold breeze. A billow of hot air escaped him in a cloud into the night; he only realized now how lucky he was that they found a place to stay. Spending it in a cold wet place again might have resulted in nearly freezing to death.

Fenris approached the group of scouts as they talked but they quieted down as he drew close. He wondered if it was his armaments that silenced them or his serious demeanor.

“You need something, Dalish?” the older one smoking asked. 

“You are the Inquisition?” Fenris asked.

“Aye, we are. What of it?” said the dwarven woman standing with her arms crossed.

“I heard you are responsible for clearing the undead out of Crestwood; quite a feat,” Fenris inquired. 

“Oh, well,” the smoking man smiled and the others relaxed. “The one responsible for that was the Inquisitor. We are just cleaning up and repairing the damage caused by the rifts.”

“And the damage those Warden’s caused,” the woman shook her head in disappointment. “I can’t believe the Inquisitor allowed them to help the Inquisition after all the lives they ruined.” 

“The Maker works in mysterious ways,” the man who’d been quiet up to this point said. A city elf, Fenris realized. 

“True enough,” said the older human. “But a shame that their help came at the cost of the Champion.”

“The Champion? Of Kirkwall?” asked Fenris, his face even more serious. 

“Have you not heard of the Inquisitor’s victory at the Fortress Adamant?” the elf asked.

They relayed the story as if they’d told it dozen’s of times. As if they had been there themselves though none of them were fighters it seemed. It was only what they’d heard. More hearsay.

The Inquisitor and her comrades stormed the fortress; the Champion of Kirkwall and the Grey Warden Stroud at her side. They cut down every demon in their path, slaughtered every blood magic bound mage. Convinced the Wardens who still had control of their minds to fight against the Magister there. A name Fenris didn’t recognize but sounded Tevene. 

The archdemon swooped down and nearly killed the Inquisitor. Almost killed the the Warden Clarel. She then sacrificed herself then and blew the bridge to kingdom come in the hopes it would take the dragon with them. It did not. 

“And then? What happened to the Champion?” Fenris asked, his agitation showing, imagining Hawke eaten by a dragon.

“They all fell into a fade rift the Inquisitor opened,” the old man said sadly, tapping the ashes out of his pipe. “And the Champion was the only one who did not survive the battle.”

It could not be. The story must be...wrong. Exaggerated. People could not just walk into the fade. The last time a person physically entered there was...when darkspawn was created, if one believed the Chantry. The tale seemed too extraordinary, even with Hawke’s track record. 

“Why the Champion?” Fenris closed his eyes, trying to control his anger. 

“I heard the Wardens were directly responsible for his death; the Inquisitor even said as much. That their foolishness resulted in the loss of the Champion,” the dwarf woman said. “None of the Warden’s deserved to stay in Orlais, or live, if you ask me.”

“No one asked you, Karime. It’s what’s best for Thedas,” the old man puffed his pipe. “And if you keep up with that talk, they’ll reassign you to some place like the Fallow Mire.”

“Don’t joke.Ugh, I hate undead, Lanegan,” she griped. 

Still there weren’t enough answers. No one who’d actually been there. No proof. But at least he was getting closer. Assuming it was even partially true; it was more information than Varric ever provided. That was something.

“What a tale,” Fenris managed past his teeth.

“I am not much of a storyteller, and I am afraid I was not there,” Lanegan shook his head. “Why this interest, elf?”

“I have always admired the Champion and wished to follow...in his steps. So I am looking to join the Inquisition myself,” Fenris said solemnly. “Would the Inquisition take a mercenary?”

“Of course,” the dwarf said. “They’ll take anyone willing to fight the Red Templars. If you have the skills already--which I’m guessing you have--they’ll even put you in a position to lead soldiers into battle.”

“Out of curiosity, if I had an acquaintance who was a practitioner of magic would they take him as well? Or would his life be forfeit as an apostate?” Fenris asked on Herren’s behalf. 

“You must not know much of the Inquisitor Lavellan and her views on magic,” the city elf, looked to his friends. “Your friend would do well to join the Inquisition. It is the only safe harbor for apostates now.”

This was at least good news for Herren. He would be safe in the Inquisition’s ranks, at least, safer than in Tevinter at the mercy of whichever magister decided his fate for killing his master. It was better than slavery. Or death. 

The group of scouts informed him if he truly wanted to join to go inside and speak with the soldiers. They were always looking for recruits with experience. Fenris nodded, thanked them for the conversation, and went in.

It was significantly warmer inside, accompanied by lots of noise. It didn’t take Fenris long to figure out who was a soldier. It was something about the way they carried themselves that gave it away. They way they thrust out their back or their discerning eyes. Looking among the half dozen men and women in armor he was able to pinpoint the one in charge easily; a human woman in full plate. 

“Pardon, Messere. You are recruiting for the Inquisition?” he interrupted the conversation she was having with another soldier. The others grew quiet.

“And you’d like to join then, Serah?” she responded. “I saw you arrive in town. Strange to see an elf with a Mabari. But you hold yourself like a soldier…I rather thought you might make your way here. Where is your mage friend?”

He hadn’t noticed her when he came into town and she knew a mage when she saw one. His fatigue was worse than he thought. Now that he was closer he could see that her armor was that of a templar’s. So the Inquisitor had both mages and templars in their ranks. Anders was probably smiling proudly in his grave at what his war accomplished.

“I would like to join,” he told her. 

“He doesn’t look like much, Lysette,” said her second, a human in his early twenties. “Looks like he could be knocked over with a feather. Perhaps his sword’s for show?”

“I have killed more abominations than you could hope to count,” Fenris directed his glare at the young man. “By the look on your face I doubt you learned past the number of fingers and toes you have.”

The youth got up and stood chest to chest with Fenris, threatened by his insult. He was taller than Fenris, though substantially younger. If his intention was to intimidate Fenris it was not working. A sword wouldn’t even be needed to teach the boy a lesson if he was intent on forcing a fight. 

“Now now,” Lysette, the group leader waved her hands. “No brawling after all the work our scouts put into fixing this place up.”

“But Lysette-” he started.

“I said enough,” she commanded, and then looked to Fenris. “I don’t doubt your skill. It’s easy enough for one to see if they look into your eyes. Hardened. Alert. You are welcome to join us, though we don’t have a uniform for you. If you want to be outfitted properly you’ll have to return to Skyhold with us.”

The destination was what he wanted so he did not object. Finally, he would get to their base of operations and find Varric. Find him to set everything straight. To sift through all the lies he’d been telling. To find the truth. To find Hawke.

When would they be leaving, he asked. In a few day’s time, after resupplying and when their replacements showed up. She suggested he rest up as they did not take many breaks while marching the Imperial Highway. And to relay that information to his apostate friend as well if he intended to join them. 

Fenris bid them good night, before walking back to the inn. His feet padded the cold ground, numbing his toes until he arrived back inside the building. He pushed the door gently open and then closed again, making sure not to wake the others. The last thing he wanted to do was upset the delicate balance Herren’s mind was likely in after all his tribulations. Waking him after having such a trying last few days could weaken his willpower, something a mage could ill afford. 

Dog lifted his head from the bed and gave out a whine.  


“Sleep,” Fenris pointed at the bed and the hound lowered his head back down onto Herren’s arm.  
  
The fire was dying so he threw a few more logs on it and laid down on the rug. It would be easier to sleep now with a plan. He snuggled up close to the fire, closed his eyes, and fell into a dream.


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke was running. Panting as he raced up jagged walkways and cliffs. Blood from a cut on his cheek dripped making a trail for demons to follow. Cauterizing it was easy enough as he slid a burning finger across his face. He cast out a fireball from his staff, blowing some creatures to oblivion but they were easily replaced by more. It was time to run again.

Fadestep was a great help here. It moved him as far away as possible in short bursts. He spotted a cave. More of a crevasse really and he shimmied inside. Slow deep breaths kept him still enough to be hidden from view. He remained quiet in the dark hole as the nightmares skittered past. Safe, for now. 

He couldn’t risk magic or the light would draw them back. Bandaging the wound in his shoulder with strips of fabric would have to do for now. He pulled the strip tight and let out a quiet exclamation. 

“I’m sorry,” he winced. “Fenris.”

*****

His eyes shot open and he sat up, shivering. Early morning and the fire was dead. Fenris took a deep breath and let it out. A dream. Only a dream. He could taste blood on his lips, having bitten them in the night.

“Good morning Fenris,” Herren opened the door with a tray. Food. That was real food he smelled. 

“It is morning I suppose,” he responded, not willing to agree that it was good quite yet. Or ever would be  again.

“You’re bleeding,” Herren put the tray down. 

“Do not concern yourself, cold air is taking it’s toll,” Fenris waved. “Seat yourself.”

Fenris spoke of the Inquisition soldiers and how they were welcome to join. That mages were more than welcome in the Inquisition’s forces. This brought relief to Herren’s face as now he did not need to hide his staff. They would leave in a few days time after replacements arrived. 

“What will we do until then?” he asked. 

“Whatever you wish,” Fenris finished some of the food on the tray. It was meant for one but they split it among them and Dog. 

“Then I shall help the scouts. I may not have many skills but perhaps I can do something,” he said excitedly. Herren rushed out with a smile on his face and Dog close on his heels. Fenris shook his head; still a child, he supposed.

For the next few days Fenris talked with the scouts and the soldiers to get a layout of the land. He was informed on recent maneuvers by the Inquisition and what they were to do next. There was a recent battle in the Arbor Wilds involving the enemy and information told them the Inquisition had been successful in routing the Magister Corypheus. Now they were being called back for a final assault. 

Corypheus. That name was certainly familiar. That darkspawn tainted...thing. Was he the reason Hawke felt he had to come? Knowing Hawke, he likely felt it was his responsibility to fix it. No wonder everything in Thedas was turning to shit. Fenris shook his head, despairingly.

“What have you gotten yourself into Hawke?” he sighed.

During those few days Herren helped around the village. A few were distrustful of him, as he was an apostate, but his deeds showed his colors. He helped clean and carry all manner of objects to and from different buildings. He reported to Lysette for any way he could help and she pointed him the direction of his next assignment. Fenris noticed that he excelled at tasks in which someone told him what to do; he was not yet his own master. 

“He will learn,” Fenris sighed, looking to Dog.

Dog was doing his own work around the village by playing with and keeping an eye on the children. He corralled them into the village whenever they ventured too far and gave them rides when they behaved. 

The days passed quickly as Fenris strategized with the soldiers, Herren made friends with some of the scouts, and Dog earned the respect of every citizen of Crestwood. Many of the villagers were thankful for their help. They gave Herren their thanks along with some warmer clothes and better shoes. And Dog received as many Mabari crunch treats as the baker could manage. Some of the children were sad to see Dog leave and cried when they started the march with the rest of the Inquisition soldiers. The animal gave each of them a sloppy kiss and whine before they left, solidifying his rank as the best Mabari in Ferelden.

They then began the trek on the Imperial Highway, a road that travelled along Lake Calenhad. Once they reached halfway down the lake they’d take another path towards the Frostbacks. Skyhold was at the top of those mountains. A defensible location, Fenris noted. 

Fenris was not the only new recruit apart from Herren. There were four other people joining them. Mostly young humans with minimal knowledge of a sword and one surface dwarf merchant who wanted to help in the transportation of supplies. Those who wished to fight would be trained and assigned to different posts after arriving at Skyhold. 

Conversation was not Fenris’ strong point but he did not turn down any opportunity to learn more of the Inquisition and it’s members. This wasn’t a pleasure trip but any information was useful information. Most of what he heard were rumors or rumors of rumors. But Lysette seemed to know more than most.

“I was not at Adamant but I did see the Champion at Skyhold before than,” Lysette told him. “I heard you were interested in stories about him from the scouts.”

“Yes,” was all Fenris said. 

“He was speaking with the Inquisitor on the ramparts,” she said. “I looked up and he was leaning over the edge, looking over the grounds. Inquisitor Lavellan was standing next to him, a solemn look on her face but that is ever the case. She always looks serious now.”

“And the Champion?” he asked, looking down.

“He kept to himself mostly. The way Ser Tethras spoke of him one would think he was an insufferable jokester but he seemed different from the stories. I suppose all heroes do,” Lysette sighed. “Or maybe this war took it’s toll on his humor. I know it has on mine.”

“Ser Fenris? Do you not want a pair of shoes?” asked a recruit, interrupting her story. Already he was being called Ser again. “I have a pair lined with rabbit fur that might fit you. Otherwise, you may get frostbite.”

“Don’t you know anything about the Dalish, Lanora? They don’t wear shoes,” someone scolded the recruit. 

“Never met one before. Do they all look like him? Does that mean Herren is not Dalish? Since he’s wearing shoes? Elves are so complicated,” the woman named Lanora mused. 

The way she spoke reminded him of Merrill. Confused and asking a million questions about humans. The differences between one human to the next and how one could tell a Kirkwaller from a Ferelden. And if it was different to be a Free Marcher versus a Kirkwaller. Humans were so complicated, she’d said. 

They sure were. 

Hawke was complicated enough without adding mage on top of it. Fenris couldn’t count the number of times he’d gotten his wires crossed with Hawke. Words that he misinterpreted or phrases he’d jumped to conclusions as to their meaning. Like when he told Orana to go to his house when they found her. Fenris thought so poorly of him, thinking he was accepting her as a slave in his home only to find out seconds later that Hawke was giving her a paying job. That she would be free. He tried not to assume anything after that. 

The party came upon a previously established campsite. There wasn’t much there except a section of cleared forests and charcoal laden firepits. Herren and the younger recruits went about setting up tents for the night while the older men and women checked the perimeter for animal tracks. There were a few bear prints in the snow but they led away from the camp.

“Bears,” Fenris informed Lysette. “But they are old. A few days ago at least. No fresh ones.”

“Well that’s good. Look here, Fenris,” she gestured to their map and pointed at a specific point. “This is where the Temple of Sacred Ashes is, er, was. And if you look over there you can see where the rift used to be; right above it.”

Fenris looked to place in the sky she pointed at and remarked upon the scar left behind. He could not imagine a tear there. A hole in the sky. But the evidence was there and hard to deny.

“And the Inquisitor closed it?” he asked, amazed and a little impressed.

“With the help of the rebel mages, yes,” Lysette nodded.

“Amazing. And she is not a mage herself?” he asked, skeptical.

“No. A dalish hunter from clan Lavellan,” Lysette told him. “The only survivor from the Conclave. If you wish to hear the story, Lanegan’s told it enough times.”

She spoke the truth; Lanegan had told this tale far more times than the one of the Champion. He even had dramatic pauses for the new recruits who were listening, their eyes wide and curious as he told the stories. Most were as distorted as any story Varric told of Hawke. 

If Hawke killed a dragon before he was ten then the Inquisitor was riding Halla before she could walk. If Hawke could strike a specific tree at a hundred yards then the Inquisitor could pin a Sovereign to a wall with her dagger blindfolded. If Hawke could make an entire tavern burst into righteous laughter then the Inquisitor could silence that same tavern with a single icy stare. It was entertaining to listen to at least. 

“She sounds intimidating,” Herren spoke aloud. “But so admirable! An elf leading an organization like the Inquisition...inspiring.”

“Inquisitor Lavellan is a strange one,” another soldier commented. “I heard she’s so quiet, you never know when she’s in a room until she’s right behind you. Even if you see her approach, she’s so fast...your throat is slit before you have a chance to scream. She’s ruthless.”

“Quiet, you’re scaring the boy,” Lanegan scolded him. “But she is a powerful force to be reckoned with. Kind and charitable to the oppressed. Merciless assassin to her foes. But I wouldn’t worry. You’ll likely never even see her; she is far too busy to attend to the rank and file.”

Fenris listened on the outskirts of the fire and finally asked a question of his own. Something he’d been wondering about.

“What of her strange power...to open and close the fade?” Fenris asked, making people turn to notice him. They then turned their head back to Lanegan for an answer. 

“Do you mean, can she do it?” Lanegan asked. “Aye, she can. Seen it myself in Crestwood once.”

He described the rift, pulsing and dripping with magic from the fade as demons fell out of it. Rage demons setting animals, buildings, and people aflame with magic. A despair demon was freezing one of his comrades solid when the Inquisitor showed up. Out of the shadows she jumped and stuck two daggers in the monster’s back, slaying it instantly. Then she disappeared into the shadows again to take on another. Magic flew through the air as one of her companions cast lightning and ice at the enemy. The Seeker Pentaghast slammed her shield into the rage demon, knocking it down to the ground where the Inquisitor impaled it. He could still hear the feral shriek it let out upon its death. Once they were all slain the Inquisitor raised her palm to it and a streak of green light connected to the rift.

“And then?” Herren stared at Lanegan, waiting for him to continue. Fenris was listening just as intently.

“It flared with a blinding emerald light. The Inquisitor closed her fist,” he said and demonstrated. “and pulled! The rift then flashed and disappeared.”

"Command over the fade...and she’s not a mage?” Herren asked. “Can you imagine if she were though? How powerful she’d be? I’ve got chills!”

Fenris left the fire and the talk of the Inquisitor; it was likely false anyway. He needed to see to believe. After wrapping his winter cloak around him he walked the perimeter of the camp with Dog. Keeping the camp safe was far more productive than sitting and listening to tales that were in all likelihood exaggerated. He also tired of the close quarters with strangers. He preferred his solitude to their loud camaraderie. 

Dog whined a little as they walked. 

“I know. You miss him,” Fenris reached down and scratched the Mabari’s ears. “I as well. Come, let’s check the west side.”

That night was uneventful, calm even. Fenris slept in a tent, sharing with Herren yet again. At least he had his own bedroll and blanket. He was warm enough with Dog curled up underneath it with him, his wet nose pressed against Fenris’ chin. It wasn’t like he would sleep anyway; too many thoughts plagued his mind. Thoughts of Hawke struck down by demons.

It couldn’t be true. Hawke would never go down that way. Not his Hawke. 

Fenris squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth. How it hurt him. How he wanted to rip his chest open and tear his heart from his body. God it hurt more now than before, conflicted emotions tearing him in two. Part of him was ready to admit that Hawke was gone but another part fought against him. He needed proof. He couldn’t just...just give up; it wasn’t in him.

Another night of restless sleep and intermittent dreams. Flashes of Hawke hurt, bleeding. Rasped breathing and fearful eyes. Praying to whoever was listening. Hawke was never the religious sort and often made jokes at the Chantry’s expense but something about the sight of Hawke kneeled down, praying for safety struck a chord in Fenris. 

He wondered if praying to The Maker now would change things. If he begged for Hawke back would He deliver him to Fenris? Was it worth trying? 

“Maker,” he swallowed and lowered his voice. “Venhedis. How is this done? Help me…”

He wasn’t sure what else to say so said nothing. What would praying to an absent god do? Make him feel better? It didn’t. It only made him feel foolish and weak for relying on a faith he never truly believed in. Fenris rolled over and tried to get some sleep.

*****

Lysette woke him early for a morning perimeter check. Dog woke with him and both stepped into the icy air. It snowed that night. His shoes were in the bag but even then he’d rather numb his feet then cover them. At least it would keep him awake. He helped himself to a mug of terrible coffee at the main fire before his rounds. Dog followed him, alert. 

As they walked the other side of the camp Dog lifted his ears and stared towards the Northwest. He growled low and barked loudly at something in the distance. 

“What is -” Fenris was interrupted by a loud eruption. It sounded like lightning striking a tree; only a hundred times louder. The ground shook, nearly knocking him from his feet. 

A bright green light shot up and into the sky. The sky above the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Fenris watched in confusion as a giant rift opened in the spot where the scar once was. A horrible feeling of dread settled into his stomach. A hole in the very sky.

“The Breach?” Fenris whispered quietly. It couldn’t be. 

The camp was in chaos. A few people stood and stared while others jarred them from their shock and told them to arm themselves. The last time it opened demons fell from the heavens and across the countryside. They were told to prepare themselves for battle. The soldiers took their posts while the frightened recruits stayed together, shakily holding their swords. 

Fenris brandished his just as something came streaming down like a trebuchet boulder, cratering the ground in the center of camp. 

“Demons,” Fenris snarled.

More hit the ground and made infernal screams before moving to attack. They went first for the newest recruits, the ones too inexperienced to know how to fight. Fenris ran to them and cut down a Shade just before it could get it’s hands on the Dwarven merchant.

“Much...obliged,” the Dwarf swallowed. 

“Raise your shield, knock them back. Keep them at bay,” Fenris demanded. “You, when he has something’s attention flank it. You cannot take a demon alone, work together. Outnumber them. Move!”

They adjusted their positions and took on a single shade together while Fenris ran to another section of camp. One that was being set on fire. Rage. Fenris lit up a shining blue before charging and striking downward on the beast. Once. Twice. Thrice. And it slumped into a mushy pile, dead.

“Thank you ser!” a soldier attempted to stand but fell to the ground. Wounded leg. 

“Do not move,” Fenris told him while keeping back another demon. “Herren!”

The mage who was sending out ice to immobilize the enemy heard him and ran towards the voice. Fenris pointed to the soldier and he set to work immediately. If nothing else the boy was good on his feet in intense situations. He supposed working as a Slaver medic prepared him for this. He healed the wound and brought the soldier to his feet. 

“Well done,” Fenris commented.

“I try,” Herren nodded. “Look out!”

Herren pointed his staff and froze something right behind Fenris. Another Rage demon he hadn’t even seen coming. He then called down a lightning strike, shattering the demon into tiny shards. Fenris nodded in appreciation before running to the next group. 

Most never even saw him coming; demons and Inquisition members alike. He’d slice down out of nowhere and cleave a lesser demon right in half, turning the tide of the fight. Some soldiers put themselves into danger by staring too long at his glowing lyrium tattoos but he woke them from their reverie quickly enough when he stabbed a Shade next to them. 

The thrill of battle was welcome at this point. Fenris needed to think only of swordplay and keeping others alive. It blocked other thoughts from his mind. Kept him moving forward. Soon the fight was won and all demons in the area slain. He stayed on guard though and kept an eye on the sky.

“Why is the sky torn again?” asked a soldier to Lysette.

“I honestly haven’t a clue...I’ll send a bird to Skyhold. We should wait here for more orders,” Lysette spoke. She had her second bring parchment and ink so she could set to work.

In the meantime, Fenris helped fix tents. Some were irreparably damaged; burnt beyond all use except as kindling. So bed rolls were moved to other tents, changing them from two person tents to four. People would be crowded but at least they would be warm. 

He could see Herren treating injuries by the fire. Most weren’t too bad and they had no dead recruits. In fact, the newest members of the Inquisition were patting themselves on the back for doing so well. From what he could hear they took out three demons together. Even the dwarven merchant, who’d never fought before, was considering becoming a soldier instead. Ah, camaraderie.  

Fenris continued to tighten down tents and move bedrolls. He was approached with another cup of horrible coffee, which he gladly took to warm himself up.

“Great work Fenris. You’re the talk of the camp,” Lysette smiled. 

“Sent your message?” he asked. 

“Yes. We’ll likely get a reply sometime tomorrow,” she nodded. “You saved those recruits lives. When a crisis hits, no one has time to protect anyone other than themselves. You’re different though.”

“Glowing in combat certainly helps set me apart,” Fenris smirked. He hadn’t smiled in weeks. 

“Nothing I’ve ever seen a Dalish do, which makes sense as you are certainly not Dalish,” she chuckled. “Poor recruits. They don’t realize who they are travelling with...Ser Tethras talked about you but never the name Fenris.”

“Something I asked of him years ago. I do not want fame...or notoriety, as it stands,” Fenris looked to her with all seriousness. “And I would like it to stay that way.”

“It will. We don’t need all the recruits getting starry eyed over a celebrity when they should be watching out for demons,” Lysette nodded and drank from her own mug. “They’ll all think you’re part mage after this though.”

It may as well be true. With all the Lyrium coursing through his skin he sometimes wondered if it was what being a mage felt like. He could not create fire, or lightning but he could phase a fist through a target. And the power he felt when it was active made him stronger. Faster. His will activated it though sometimes it didn’t happen via his own accord. Emotions sometimes got the better of him. Not unlike a mage when he thought about it. 

Lysette still stood there, something else on her mind. 

“Need anything else, Captain?” he asked, tightening the rope on the tent. 

“I...am sorry. About the Champion,” she told him. “Many of us feel his loss but none who feel it as deeply as you, I imagine.”

Fenris paused a moment, keeping his eyes to the tent post in the ground, waiting for more from her. 

“Feel free to tell me to shut my hole if I’m prying but, why are you here? For revenge? The man responsible for the events at Adamant was judged by the Inquisitor herself,” Lysette told him. “Executed in front of a crowd rallying for his death…”

“My reasons are my own and I thank you not to involve yourself,” Fenris stood up and looked to her. “What matters is I am here now and I am not leaving without what I came for.”

The look on her face suggested curiosity. What did he come for? Fenris wasn’t even sure. He thought  the reason he came was to find answers but it was looking more and more like he’d find nothing. Not even the truth. He’d have to go to the source to find out what really happened since no one seemed to know. No one could give him absolute proof that he was dead.

He excused himself and continued to move tents and bedrolls in silence.  Afterwards he sat on the outskirts of the camp, looking up at the reopened breech. It looked like a whirlpool in the sky, sucking in the nearby clouds into a green spiral.

“Fenris,” Herren approached. “I brought you some stew.”

Herren sat a few feet from him after handing off the tin bowl. They ate quietly while taking in the new breach. The mage finished first and looked over Fenris for injuries. There were more than a few but they were already bandaged. Instead of offering his magical services he simply sat there looking up. 

“Do you think we’ll go there?” Herren asked, fear tinting his voice. 

“No,” Fenris told him. There were too many untrained members in their midst. There were likely soldiers heading there now from Skyhold. And would reach there before evening. 

"Think it’ll all be over before we even get to Skyhold?” he asked, with a sigh. 

“They will desire capable healers for the aftermath of battle. You will still be needed,” Fenris explained. 

There was no more conversation for a while. Herren eventually stood and returned to the main fire, leaving Fenris alone with Dog. He placed his bowl on the ground to which the Mabari licked clean. Dog then carried it back to camp and stayed near the fire with Herren. 

They received a message late in the evening from the Inquisition. 

The group was to continue it’s trek towards Skyhold. Even if they tried to meet the Inquisitor’s party heading for the Breach they’d arrive too late. Instructions told them to take the safest path to the base, as they would need every able bodied person’s help when they arrived to assist in helping the soldiers returning from the Arbor Wilds. It included coordinates to pick up another group along the way.

Fenris huffed in frustration. This detour would lengthen the trip by another two weeks. It would take nearly a month to reach Skyhold. If they took Haven’s road they could reduce that time by at least a week. 

“But we must unite with the group at the Southern Calenhad camp,” Lysette told him. “And that route is not safe. Demons occupy most of the area, it’s steeper than the path we usually take, and it is constantly threatened by avalanches. Taking a party through there would be foolish.”

Yes it was foolish but would allow him to arrive at Skyhold in two weeks. The sooner the better. Fenris held his tongue and left to allow the Captain to discuss matters further with her Second. He had other plans.

Packing. Rearranging his gear. Compass in his bag. Still two weeks worth of hardtack left. He put on the thicker clothes he’d brought. He grimaced at the shoes but put them on nonetheless. They would be needed where he was going. Dog saw him preparing for departure and gathered things from around camp. A few biscuits here, a stamina potion there. 

It was dark when Fenris raised himself out of the bedroll and grabbed his things. Dog was outfitted and ready. He fastened his cloak and his sword to his back, then slowly stepped over the three other people sleeping in the tent. He was almost out of camp before he heard someone.

“You’re leaving,” was the comment. 

Fenris turned slightly and saw Herren stoking the main camp fire after everyone else had gone to sleep. 

“Yes,” he said. 

“To find him?” Herren asked. “You think he’s still out there somewhere?” 

“I know he is,” Fenris told him, and it felt true. Hawke was out there. 

The ground shook a little but nothing came down from the sky. It felt like somewhere in the distance a castle collapsed. Whatever it was, it was far away, but it didn’t stop people from peeking their heads out of their tents to look up. Even Herren looked up waiting for more demons to fall. When he looked down Fenris and Dog were gone into the woods.   
  
“Good luck,” Herren said to the crackling fire. 


	4. Chapter 4

By the light of morning a surge of energy went into the sky over the Temple of Sacred Ashes and the Breach closed again. The Inquisitor was a fast responder to danger it seemed. That tear would not stay in the sky any longer than necessary. Fenris assumed this meant the battle was probably over. By the time he reached Skyhold everyone would be recovering from the fight. 

He needed to hurry if he wanted to catch Varric before he left, venturing back to Kirkwall. It would piss him off royally if he made this trip only to miss him. 

Fenris travelled five days straight, grabbing rest when he could find it. Usually against a tree with dog close for warmth. He chewed on the hardtack in large crumbs as they walked to save time for travel instead of eating. It wasn’t delicious but it gave him enough energy to keep moving. 

But as he travelled he found less and less places to rest. He grew tired more quickly and took more frequent breaks against rocks and trees to catch his breath. Dog whined at him, worried, but Fenris waved him off. Hawke would not give up on him; the least he could do was extend the same courtesy. 

He didn’t want to sleep. Any time he did so he dreamed of Hawke. Hurt and running from monsters. Bleeding. Gasping for air. Hiding. It was the worst feeling in the world to see. Fenris could only look on helplessly. He could do nothing to help Hawke.

So he slept less. 

Quick naps before dreams could overtake him were best. But they didn’t allow him much time to recover his strength. 

Another week. Just one more week in the freezing snow and sharp rocky inclines. Seven days more of hardtack bread and no meat. No warm stews. No horrible but hot coffee. He would kill a man for some of Hawke’s tea right about now. Anything to warm his throat. This fingers. His toes.

Fenris could smell a fire, he realized suddenly and snapped his head up. He could see nothing but ridges of white ice, dark rocks, and coniferous trees as far as the eyes could see. No smoke.

Maybe he smelled nothing. He was exhausted. His arms held tight to his torso, trying to keep warm. His feet used to hurt. Now he felt nothing. They were numb beyond all feeling. Yet he crunched through the snow to keep moving. Kept telling himself it was just a little further. 

He tripped and fell to his knees, soaking them with wet snow. Standing up proved difficult but he managed, only to trip again a few steps later. All he wanted to do was lay down and rest for a while. 

Fenris felt numbing cold on his face and came to realize he’d fallen in the snow but lacked the energy to stand up. So tired. If he fell asleep here would he freeze to death? Surely he would but even that sense of urgency could not make him rise. He let out a sigh. 

The Chantry said when someone died they travelled through the Fade. If Hawke was dead perhaps he was there waiting for him. If not he could wait there for Hawke until he arrived. At least then, they’d be together. 

Dog was nudging at his face and fingers, licking them to encourage him to stand but to no avail. Fenris just let out another deep breath and closed his eyes. He needed to sleep. 

*****

What a dream. Fenris saw a forest, pleasantly devoid of snow. Nothing like the pines he saw in the frostbacks. And the climate was different as well. Gentle rays of sun fell on the grass, warming the air surrounding him. He looked around but found himself alone.

Was this the Fade? Where was Hawke?

He sat down on a moss covered statue. A giant wolf of a sort. He scoffed at it and the remembrance that his name meant ‘little wolf’. How appropriate, he thought as he rubbed a hand down it’s neck. 

Rustling nearby drew his attention. What was that? He peered between the trees and saw in the distance a white creature. A halla? No, lower to the ground as it stalked the outskirts of the shaded areas. Then it sat down and stared at him, analyzed him. A white wolf with eyes that flickered with a blue flame.

Fenris slowly approached it, curious. The wolf did not move as he drew closer.

He could hear the echo of someone’s voice. The words were indiscernible. Whispers in a tongue he did not know until finally something was said in common. 

_ Fenris. I’m sorry. _

He looked around frantically for the voice. It was Hawke’s; it had to be. Fenris called out to him. Asked him where he was. But it only repeated the words again. Louder and quieter; in all directions. Where? Which way? He went to his knees, frustrated and angry but also too tired to chase whispers. 

The wolf approached him and sat in front of him. It looked into his eyes with a pitying sadness all their own. Blue eyes like magefire flared up and swirled. They hypnotised him, bringing him in to stare closer and closer to the animal’s face. The fires radiated outwards and crackled violently with a loud pop.

*****

Fenris opened his eyes and stared into darkness. His feet and fingers hurt again. He marvelled that he could feel anything at all. Warm. He was warm. The fire popped again. Dog sat alongside him looking down on his face. Before he could relax he heard a shuffling nearby and stiffened.

“Calm yourself,” a voice said. “You are in no danger here.”

Fenris sat up to find a fire and a stranger clad in warmer clothes than he. He was tending to the flames and warming his hands. The stranger had no soles on the bottom of his shoes. Elf. 

“I suggest you warm your hands and feet by the fire, unless you wish them removed by frostbite,” he suggested. 

“Where am I?” Fenris asked, looking around the rocky walls. He could see the entrance to the cave not far off and the brilliant white snow that accompanied it. 

“In the Frostbacks,” he told him. “Your hound found my camp and insisted I follow him. So I did. I found you and carried you back here. Consider yourself lucky.”

“Lucky is not what I call myself these days,” Fenris replied, looking morosely into the embers. “But you have my thanks nonetheless.”

Fenris warmed himself by the fire and stole a few glances at his savior. A strange looking elf. He dressed like a woodsman, in furs and hand repaired clothing. By all accounts he looked Dalish but sported no vallaslin like Merrill did. He supposed he wasn’t one to talk; he had what looked like vallaslin but was not Dalish either. 

Dog padded around the cave and rummaged through his bag. He pulled the statuette out that Merrill gave him, like he did every night before sleeping, and placed it at the cave exit facing out. A little wolf statuette. Fenris wanted to smack himself, that’s where it came from in his dream. Merrill’s foolish little superstition. He scoffed at Dog for subscribing to nonsense. 

“Your hound appears more Dalish than you do,” the stranger chuckled. 

“I am not-”

“I am aware,” he cut Fenris off. “You do not hold yourself like one of them. And your markings bear no resemblance to any of Pantheon’s designs.”

Dog re-positioned the wolf stone many times until it was satisfactorily pointing exactly as he wanted it. With a happy tail wag he came back to the fire and sat next to Fenris. Dog wasn’t nervous around this elf, which caused Fenris to relax a little as well. Mabari knew the character of a man long before anyone else. His judgement could be trusted.

“I don’t have much to eat, I’m afraid,” the man said as he poured a liquid from his pot. “Will tea suffice?”

The man handed a cup to Fenris and he drank from it thankful for something other than water. Herbal. Elfroot and...dragon thorn? It was a strange combination but it was hot and warmed his throat with a spicy aftertaste. It reminded him of Leandra’s cinnamon tea and brought a small smile to his face. 

“It is dangerous to travel the Frostbacks alone,” the elf spoke.

“What of you? I see none in your company,” Fenris quipped back. 

“True but I am not the one who collapsed from exhaustion in the snow,” he said. 

Fenris stared at the man again. Bald but not old. Alert and aware eyes that seemed to read him. A staff at his side. A staff. Another mage. Fenris rolled his eyes and huffed gruffly. The world was now crawling with them. He inched slightly away from him, as this new information made him uncomfortable to be close. 

“I cannot afford to rest here long,” Fenris spoke.

“Looking for someone? Someone named Hawke?” the man drank from his tea, not sparing a glance to Fenris’s suspicious glare. “You said a name in your sleep. I made an assumption.”

“He joined the Inquisition. And did not return,” Fenris looked into the tea cup. 

“As is the fate of many that serve the cause. One more casualty to add to the list,” the elf shook his head wistfully and groped at the pendant on his neck. A bone of some sort. 

The look on his face said he’d lost someone too. Pain crept up from behind his eyes as he held the necklace. The elf’s thoughts were elsewhere for a moment, then he closed them to shake the memory before speaking again. 

“I lost something I no longer thought I had during my time with the Inquisition and it’s leader,” he explained, a sad breath escaped him. “It may not be wise to go there; as the answers you seek are not always the ones you find.”

“You were part of the Inquisition?” Fenris asked and put down his empty cup.

“For a time,” he spoke and refilled Fenris’s cup. “But I have different responsibilities to attend to now.”

“Can you tell me anything of the Champion of Kirkwall?” Fenris asked, hopeful for news. Any news at all.

The stranger looked down as he refilled his own cup. He was trying to find the words, giving Fenris a sinking feeling in his stomach. He nodded his head and took a long slow drink of tea. 

“Lamentable turn of events. The Champion’s death was...most discouraging. To lose him only to gain a legion of corrupted Wardens in his place; an unbalanced trade and a most unfortunate one,” he said. He put the cup aside, no longer interested in drinking it. 

“Did you see it happen? Were you there?” Fenris asked, not liking the story he was being told. 

“No, I was not. But I was close with those involved,” he said sadly. “They remain at Skyhold if you feel you must know the truth.”

Fenris sat back, dumbfounded. Another person telling him Hawke was gone. The world was against him it seemed. Everything was telling him to give up. To just accept it. But his heart. Fenris closed a fist over his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. Hawke was out there. It defied explanation but he could just feel it. 

“You are wrong,” Fenris spoke. “He is alive. And nothing will keep me from him.”

“What strong beliefs you have,” he gave a small smile. 

“It is not faith. I  _ know  _ he is alive,” Fenris stared into the flames. “I will find him.”

“Regardless, you should rest, friend of the Champion,” the stranger told him and gestured to the blankets in a nearby pile. 

“Not with the dreams I have. I would do just as well to stay awake,” Fenris shook his head. 

“Dreams?” he asked, his interest piqued. 

“He is there. Needs help. Injured but trapped in my thoughts. Lyrium jutting out in sharp spires cutting him. Smoking wisps of air choking his breath. Makes sleep...unpleasant, to say the least,” Fenris held his head, trying to forget the blood dripping from Hawke’s lips. The blisters on his feet from running constantly. 

“Sounds like the Fade,” the stranger said, placing his hand back on his necklace as he sat pensive. “You needn’t worry about such nightmares tonight.”

Fenris furrowed a brow as if to ask why. 

“Let us say that unpleasant dreams are nothing new to mages. And the world has created a number of remedies to accommodate such occurrences,” he said, looking into his tea. He gestured his cup towards Fenris with nod before draining it of the beverage. “Sleep well.”

Fenris finished his drink and decided a little rest wasn’t a terrible idea. He laid down next to the fire and covered himself in his cloak. Dog seated himself against his back and with time snuggled into the cloak with him. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for bad dreams despite the elf’s assurance that none would come.

And wouldn’t you know, he didn’t dream at all. 

He slept for hours on hours. It took Dog to wake him. The fire had died down to embers and the mystery elf was gone. Nothing remained of his presence except for a bit of parchment pinned under the wolf statuette. Inside it was a few satchels of herbs and a message.

_ Perhaps it is not too late. Journey in the light and keep hope.    
_ _ May you reach your destination unhindered, Wolf of the Champion. _

_ Mala suledin nadas. Lasa’din abelas arla’mala.   
_ _ Dareth Shiral. _

“Wolf of the Champion,” he repeated. Did he ever tell the stranger his name? He couldn’t remember. 

He recognized the last of the elven as a means to say farewell. Merrill used it enough times that he knew it. But the other had him lost. He folded it up and inspected the herb satchels. Elfroot and Dragonthorn. He put them in Dog’s pack as well for use later. 

Dog retrieved the stone and Fenris put it away, along with all of their other gear. Well rested, he was ready to begin travel again with new vigor. He stepped from the cave into the snow and moved forward. 

*****

It was a few days before he found a road. The road travelled up the side of the mountain and craning his neck back he could see the makings of a castle at the top. It seemed to be reaching up to the very heavens. Skyhold. What an appropriate name, he thought, and took the first step of thousands up the mountain side. 

Two weeks is what he thought it would take but it took longer by three or so days. Lack of rest had slowed him considerably but he made it. And he didn’t lose a single toe to frostbite; one victory in his corner. 

They walked across the stone bridge overlooking a frothing white river that would grant him access to the fortress. The banners whipped about in the breeze. A symbol of an eye pierced by a sword with the chantry sun in the background. The Inquisition; at last.

There were a few groups of people walking the bridge as well and Fenris did his best to look a part of them. He didn’t want to deal with nosy soldiers asking questions about his purpose there. It mattered little as many were let in and out without much ceremony; it seemed they were expecting a group of mages to heal the wounded and Fenris looked the part of a mercenary escort. No one even gave him a second glance.

“Skyhold,” Fenris eyed the stone walls and the banners within. 

“Dalish. Oy, Elf. With the tattoos,” someone was trying to get his attention by snapping at him and calling him over. Fenris did not move; he was no one’s pet to be summoned like a dog, not anymore. It forced the man to come closer. “Are you not here for the next escort detail?”

“No,” Fenris answered, his glare strengthened. “And I advise you not to snap your fingers at me like some animal, lest you want them removed.”

“Calm down, Serah. I’s just asking,” he put his hands up to show he meant no harm. “We’re expecting an envoy of Dalish from a sister clan of clan Lavellan and I just assumed. If you’re here to help the injured, then that way. If you’re here for transportation escort, over there. And if you’re here to join the soldier ranks, to that building over there.”

“And if I were here to find Varric Tethras, where then?” Fenris grumbled, remembering why he came in the first place. 

“Master Tethras? He’s up those stairs, then those stairs and into the keep. Just inside the door, usually,” the man answered. “Are you a friend of his?”

That remained to be seen, Fenris thought as he ignored the man and took the indicated path. Each step hit the ground heavier than he intended. His face hardened as he remembered; it was Varric’s vague message that brought him here. He called Hawke to this place. Whatever happened to Hawke was his fault. 

And then he said nothing of Hawke’s supposed demise, only that he was gone forever. Lies. Lies flew from that beardless dwarf’s mouth on a regular basis. How often had he lied when he could  have told the truth? All his stories were just that, a conglomeration of fiction to make a magnificent tale for people to believe.

He tried to make Fenris believe. Believe that Hawke was dead. How dare he.

As he came up the last flight of stairs he could see into the Keep. Like the man said, Varric was standing near a table and blazing fireplace, talking to a pair of Orlesian nobles with a half smile. When he looked up his face lost it’s humor. The smile disappeared. His eyes widened. 

“Oh shit,” he mouthed as he started to back up, looking around for an escape. 

Fenris would not give him that luxury and was on him like the wolf he imagined himself to be. He grabbed him and slammed him to the wall, pinning him against it with a hand on his throat. The nobles squealed and ran away, while others looked on with gasps and hushed whispers. Varric’s stumpy legs kicked at the air before dangling limp.

“Where is Hawke?” Fenris growled low.

“I take it you got my letter,” Varric wheezed. “You look terrible.”

“Jest again, dwarf; make light of your fate,” Fenris pulled a hand back, ready to delve into his chest.

“You’re calling me dwarf; now I know you’re angry.”

“And it will be the last time you hear any name, if you don’t answer me,” Fenris snarled, his lyrium lighting up. Varric flinched and for a moment thought Fenris might actually do it. 

The nearby nobles were startled and looked worriedly for the guards. Ones they would summon if he didn’t put Varric down and stop threatening his life. Fenris lowered him to the ground but did not release him. He even did him a solid and relaxed the pulsing lyrium in his markings. 

“Fenris, let go,” Varric choked out, unable to breath.

He did so, reluctantly. Varric coughed and waved at people, telling them to move on. Nothing to see here. Many left the keep others just moved far enough away to watch but not hear. It would have to do. 

“Where is Hawke?” Fenris repeated, lower and with far more malice than before. “Or so help me I will rip your throat out here and now.”

“He writes on the table. Quill. Ink. Parchment peppered with tears. Has to start over. Another crumpled letter into the crackling logs. How could this happen? Not, Hawke. How will I tell the others? Fearing a friendship dissolved by darkness, demons, death,” said a voice behind Fenris.

He whirled to see who it was. A young boy with an obscenely large hat obscuring most of his features. The boy fiddled with his fingers and stepped lightly side to side. Where did he come from? Was he always there?

“Someone has to do it. He writes through tight teeth. Scribbles of signs forming letters, shaping into soft sentences, telling the tale of the Champion. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. Fenris is going to kill me,” the boy added.

“That’s enough, kid,” Varric stopped him, his face pained at the memory. 

“I want to help,” he said. “Should I try again?”

“No. Thanks anyway, Cole. I know you’re only trying to help,” Varric looked at the boy and told him he was alright. To go on ahead to the tavern or he’d miss the minstrels afternoon songs. The boy left without another word, still fiddling with his fingertips.

“Answer my question,” Fenris commanded, not swayed by the intruder’s story. 

“He’s gone Fenris. I told you as much,” Varric sighed, loathe to talk about it again. 

“You are prone to lies, ostentatious ones, but this time chose ambiguity over detail,” Fenris clenched his fist in full sight of Varric, making him nervous again. “None seem to know details in regard to the events at Adamant Fortress, but you...you deliberately withhold them from me. Someone you call friend. Tell me Varric.”

Varric lowered his eyes, his guilt rising up from his gut. He swept a hand over his brow with a resigned sigh. He didn’t want to tell this story again but Fenris deserved to know, he supposed.

“They all fell and the Inquisitor opened a rift to save them. Stroud. Dorian. Cole. Cassandra. Hawke. And of course, the Inquisitor,” Varric explained. “I was told Hawke stayed behind to save everyone. That he was fighting the fear demon as the Inquisitor closed the rift. She had to close it. Or more would die.”

In the Fade? Fenris couldn’t believe it. No one could go physically into the Fade. He just assumed it was another fanciful story. That it was told to entertain people and sway them into joining the Inquisition. A way to make the Inquisition larger than life.  But if Varric was repeating that nonsense then...

“So it is true?” Fenris said confusion spreading on his face. 

“Someone told you as much?” Varric asked. 

“It was a tale. No one I spoke with had actually been there. Assumed it was all just imaginative hearsay. An account that grew with each telling. The Fade is not accessible except to demons...Hawke is there?” Fenris took in the information. 

If this were true and Hawke weren’t dead then...His dreams had been trying to tell him. Weren’t the Fade and dreams connected? Hawke was inside the Fade that very moment. Alone and trapped there. Alive within a living nightmare. He willed himself to stay calm or he would stop breathing.

“He’s not there anymore Fenris,” Varric explained, his face pained. “No one could survive in the Fade. Not even Hawke. Not after all these months.”

“No one tried to get him?” Fenris asked with an ache in his voice, ignoring Varric’s comment.

“The only one who might know how is the Inquisitor,” Varric mentioned and then wished he hadn’t as Fenris’s face changed at this knowledge. 

The Inquisitor. 

He had it all wrong. Varric may have led Hawke to slaughter but the Inquisitor did the deed. She closed the rift while he was still alive. Who better to take responsibility than the leader of the cause? If he died before Fenris got to him it would be her fault. 

Fenris saw red and grabbed Varric again.

“The Inquisitor,” he demanded her location. 

“Don’t do it Fenris,” Varric shook his head. 

He shoved the dwarf to the ground and stomped towards the nearest scout. He grabbed him and asked for the Inquisitor. He blubbered out a response and pointed at a door before Fenris dumped him into Varric who’d just stood from the ground. A few people surrounded Varric and the poor scout, asking if they were alright, blocking them from seeing Fenris pull open the door to Josephine’s office. 

Empty. But there was another door. He whipped it open and it led to another long hallway. At the end of it was a formidable looking door guarded by two templar soldiers. They would not stop him. 

“Sorry Serah, a war meeting is in session,” said one woman.

“I have business with the Inquisitor,” was the only thing Fenris said as he strode forward for the door.

“Did you not hear, Serah? No one is to enter while-” but he could not finish as Fenris was busy dislocating his shoulder. “AGH!”

Fenris threw him aside facefirst into the stone wall, not caring much about the broken and bloodied nose. The woman stared in shock and tried drawing her weapon. Fenris pulled the sword from her hand and threw it down the hall. She had to make the decision to fight him barehanded or to retrieve her weapon and perhaps a few reinforcements. 

She made a third decision and opened the door, warning the people inside of the intruder. He did not try to stop her as he wanted the door open afterall. But Fenris did shove her down as he strode in, fire in his veins. 

“You,” said a man he recognized as Cullen, a templar he met in Kirkwall. That seemed like a lifetime ago. 

Two others turned to stare at him. A roguish looking woman with red hair, human, unconcerned look on her face. Next an Antivan woman, hiding behind a clipboard, a look of worry as she looked at everyone else. Then the last one must be her.

“Inquisitor!” he yelled.

Her back was to him, her hands down on the table. A small elven woman who did not even turn to acknowledge him. She simply continued speaking and pointing to the map.

“We should send relief efforts here and here,” she spoke. “And we should trade any herb growers food or assistance for elfroot. To add to our infirmary. Our soldiers fought hard and deserve the best medicines we can attain.”

“Inquisitor!” Fenris snarled. 

“Inquisitor, would you like me to-” Leliana started but Lavellan raised a hand, as if to say she’d handle it.

She turned slowly to look upon the intruder. A cold icy stare met his hot one. Her face was devoid of emotion and the Vallaslin he’d come to associate with Dalish. Dusty blonde hair cut short but well kempt and styled away from her eyes. Eyes that were looking him over and unimpressed by his appearance.

“You are interrupting a meeting coordinating the relief efforts, not only of Ferelden but also Orlais,” she said, her tone and words sounding rehearsed. “A delay which will result in the damaged livelihoods of people all over Southern Thedas. A delay I will not tolerate so if you don’t mind, vacate, so that we may finish. Your grievances, whatever they may be, can wait and do not outweigh the needs of many.”

“My grievances?!” he frothed at the implication that his concerns were petty. “You’re the reason I lost him. Lost Garrett-”

“We have all lost people to the conflict caused by Corypheus and his machinations. But right now I must focus my efforts on rebuilding the broken and shattered remains of people’s lives with the forces I still command,” she said steadily, calmly. Lavellan then turned back to the table as more guards came in to replace the ones he threatened. “Escort him out of my War Room.”

She turned her back on him. Dismissed him. And inside his anger bubbled higher to the surface. If she would not acknowledge him, help him, then she was better off dead. So he stepped forward, drawing his sword. But she was gone. Where did--

“You’re too slow,” she whispered in his ear, a blade at his throat. “And if I weren’t incredibly tired of death and loss I would bleed you here like a nug at slaughter and leave you for the maids to clean up.”

He could feel the truth of her words and swallowed a lump in his throat. Maybe if he’d rested more he would have been faster. Without moving the dagger she reached into a pocket with her other hand. Before he could guess her intentions she blew a powder into his face. 

Fenris dropped the sword, his hands rubbed at his burning eyes. He coughed and choked on the infernal dust. His vision blurred into waves. Disorientation. Vertigo. His knees hit the stone. Then his shoulder slammed into the ground. Knockout dust. Damn rogues and their tricks. All the words he heard after were garbled. 

Who is this? Varric came in and said something. An apology? He wasn’t sure. What were they to do with him? Did he hear someone say ‘dungeon’? A dissenting male voice assured them he’d just break out. 

“Put him somewhere quiet. With someone on him. Until he comes to his senses,” said that calm voice. 

Then everything faded out into nothing


	5. Chapter 5

Fenris stirred on a soft bench with a pained groan to which he received an immediate comment.

“I tried to warn you, Broody,” Varric spoke softly. “Lavellan is not one to be trifled with, especially in your condition. You may as well have been a blind and lame druffalo.”

Fenris tried opening his eyes but it swam with spots, making him feel sick. His ears were ringing even though Varric was taking steps to keep the volume low to accommodate him. Sitting up seemed out of the question but he tried anyway. If there was anything substantial in his stomach he would have expelled it. 

“The Inquisitor?” he asked, nearly gagging.

“Still the in War room. Doing what she can now that Corypheus is gone,” Varric sighed. “They doubled the guards.”

“I wish to speak with her again,” he said, trying to stand but landed back on his seat. His head throbbed with a pounding ache. 

“Like you did earlier?” Varric asked sarcastically. 

That was foolish, he could see that now. He hadn’t time to calm himself, to adjust to the information he was given. He needed to control his anger if he wanted answers. If he wanted Lavellan’s help. Fenris slowly blinked, regaining his vision. The walls were painted in various reds, yellows, oranges, black and white. There seemed to be a story illustrated on the wall but he couldn’t follow it let alone focus on exact shapes.

“I’d leave Lavellan be; she has her own problems to deal with. You should let that stuff she used wear off. For the next hour it’ll feel like you drank a cask of wine,” Varric chuckled. 

It amazed Fenris that Varric could laugh. He couldn’t even think about laughing again. Not until Hawke was in his arms. Then he might never stop laughing. Or crying. Maybe both. His stomach growled loudly.

“What have you been eating?” Varric asked. 

“Hardtack...and tea,” Fenris managed. 

“Shit, go to the tavern. Get something to eat. Drink. Maybe it’ll straighten out your head,” Varric patted his shoulder to which Fenris growled and shrugged him off. He still hated being touched by people who hadn’t earned it. And Varric had recently lost that privilege. 

Fenris stood and wavered a little. Varric pointed at the door he assumed was the exit. 

“Down the steps and right across,” Varric told him. “I already told them you’re on my tab.”

He managed to walk out into the main hall, the door opened to the spot where he first saw Varric. There were nobles whispering behind masks, gesturing in his general direction. The guards had doubled like Varric said and now there were extra in front of Josephine’s door. They all eyed him as he walked the opposite direction, towards the tavern.

Perhaps food was not a bad idea.

It was loud and raucous; already he was regretting the choice to enter. He swore, hoping it would help his head. It did a little but not enough to join a regiment of noisy soldiers. So he took a seat at a table far off from the commotion. 

“Anything edible,” he requested when the barmaid asked. She nodded with a smile and went about getting it. 

“Mind if I sit here? Need a spot away from the noise,” asked a man.

Fenris looked up and saw a man clad in armor with a tray of food and mug of ale. Fenris shrugged and he took a seat.

“Much obliged. Name’s Krem. I’m with the Bull’s Chargers,” he said and pointed at the hodgepodge group of dwarves, elves, and humans in the process of drinking themselves stupid. Then he pointed to the Qunari drinking in the corner, labeling him the boss.

He hadn’t seen a Qunari since the battle in Kirkwall. This one seemed strange, not unlike the Tal Vashoth he’d met on the Wounded Coast. A face with emotion. He smiled and laughed at jokes. Oogled lewdly at the barmaid as she walked by. 

“Mercenary troupe,” Fenris guessed. “Eclectic mix…”

“Yeah, but we were welcomed here like everyone else. Not sure how much longer we’ll be around since the fighting is over,” Krem dug into his meal. “The Boss likes it here though.”

Fenris ate his food when it arrived and opted for water when asked what he wanted to drink. The last thing he needed to do was add wine to the headache. She brought a mug back and as soon as she left he drank from it, nearly spitting it on his food. Mead.

“Venhedis! Fasta Vass! I said water,” he grumbled and pushed the drink aside. 

“I’ll take that off your hands,” Krem slid the drink towards himself and helped himself to a gulp. 

“A Vint, huh?” said a towering voice over them. The one Krem called the Iron Bull. “Don’t see many of those around here. Aside from Dorian and Krem here.”

“Former Vint,” Krem raised his mug and took a swig. “And he’s elven Boss. I doubt he was ever a Vint. Just swears like one.”

The Iron Bull took a seat and it creaked under his weight. He signaled the barmaid and ordered more drinks for the table. He handed them out to Krem who was now on a third mug, one for himself, and the last for Fenris. Fenris was thankful that his contained only water.

“Sorry, couldn’t see your ears. I can only see half of the world as it is, and I’ve been drinking since we took down that Corypheus asshole so I can hardly see out the other eye!” the Iron Bull laughed and smacked the table before gulping down more ale. “Annan!”

“Nehraa Kost,” Fenris mumbled and drank his water. He’d forgotten that people were still celebrating their victory. To peace.

“Tevene and Qunlat?” the Bull remarked as he drank. “Don’t see that everyday.”

Fenris listened as Krem and the Iron Bull told the stories of their victory. Of all the action they’d been party to since joining the Inquisition. He found the stories in which they fought templars the most interesting and soothing to his head. Battle always caught his eyes and ears. He gathered that the Iron Bull was close to the Inquisitor Lavellan from the way he talked about her. All his comments on her pertained to recent events; he didn’t know much about her past. 

“She’s...formidable,” Fenris admitted. 

“You say that as if you fought her,” Krem chuckled. 

“I would not call it a fight...perhaps instigating a losing battle,” Fenris grumbled, still unhappy that she got the drop on him so easily. 

“You’re lucky you’re not dead,” the Iron Bull laughed. “Seriously though. If she were at her best you would be. Lavellan does not take kindly to threats on her life and enjoys the thrill of a good hunt, like any Dalish.”

She was not like any Dalish he’d ever seen or met before. If Merrill was any indication he’d become accustomed to meek and foolish. And while her clan seemed the serious and cautious sort they did not come off as cold or calculating. If that was not the Inquisitor’s best, he could only imagine what it was like other than downright terrifying. 

Fenris finished his meal and excused himself to return the tray of dishes to the bar. There was a noise overhead, a creaking as someone leaned over the banister. He looked up to see a familiar hat looking down on him. 

The strange boy from before. The one that seemed to be reading Varric’s mind. Or his memories. Hadn’t the dwarf said someone named Cole was there in the Fade with Hawke? 

Fenris asked the Iron Bull about him before giving into his curiosity to ascend the stairs.

“Cole, he’s uh. Strange one,” the Bull tilted his head, trying to find a way to explain it.

“He was at the Fortress Adamant?” Fenris inquired.

“Yeah, but he was strange even before that. He’s a spirit or something like that. I don’t really know a lot about magic and stuff,” Bull shrugged and looked to his lieutenant. “Krem?”

“Solas said he was a spirit of Compassion. Rare. And even rarer is that he has his own body. He didn’t take it from anyone,” Krem finished his plate of food. “He’s odd but a nice enough kid. Always trying to help people.”

Abomination. Fenris’s hair was on end. The last time he met one it blew up the Chantry in Kirkwall. But he’d never heard of a spirit with it’s own body before. A curious thing. Maybe that made it different. Or not. But he was there at Adamant and his connection to the Fade might answer his questions. Hawke was more important than his discomfort. So he went to the top floor to speak with him.

Cole hadn’t moved. He was still leaning over the side and looking down. Fenris arrived at his side but he didn’t acknowledge him, simply hummed the tune the minstrel on the bottom floor was singing. He felt a little weird addressing him, knowing it was a spirit. Did he name himself? Or did the others?

“You are Cole, correct?” Fenris asked, uncertain.

“Yes,” the boy nodded.

“Am I to understand you went into the Fade at Adamant?” Fenris inquired. 

“I did not like it there...it was different from what I remembered. Dark, deep, damp. The magic is too thick there. Smoking, smoldering, searing the air. Loud whispers, wanting, waiting for the door to be opened so they can step inside. So many Wardens let the monster in.”

It was strange to witness and even stranger to hear him speak. It looked like a trance of some sort. The words made little sense and yet Fenris could understand what he meant. Could feel it as if he were there. Cole looked up, as if suddenly alert and seeing something across the tavern.

“A weeping wolf rages and writhes in a broken building. His skin sizzles. His blood boils. Sapphire splits in his body that look like ice but burn like embers. He desires to drill, to tear out the torment. I must know the truth. I must find him,” Cole continued.

He was talking about Fenris now. And as much as that unnerved him he wanted to know about Hawke. 

“Hawke. Is he alive?” Fenris asked, hopeful. 

“The answer might hurt you,” Cole told him and closed his eyes. “Running, rushing, a race to secure shelter. More nightmares coming. Extremities ache. Hunger rushing over, wave after wave. Don’t need food but want it. Could go for a mabari crunch. I can see Fenris judging me already. Laughter leaking into the air. Skittering spurs and shrieking draw closer. Can’t stop searching. Find a way out.”

Fenris choked on his own breath and braced himself on the banister. Alive. He had to be. It sounded just the way Hawke spoke. That couldn’t be coincidence. 

"You aren’t hurting as much now,” Cole said, confused. “That idiot is alive. Heart fluttering, flying towards the shimmering stars. Like the night sky after clearing the mansion. A waste of a perfectly handsome elf. My guard fell and I laughed. It had been so long since laughter. Embarrassment increasing, face flush with warmth.”

Fenris closed his eyes and smirked remembering the event vividly. He remembered thinking Hawke was such a flirt. And despite his mage heritage he found himself attracted to his presence. To his strength. To his kindness. He missed Hawke’s terrible jokes. The funny faces he’d make to disrupt Fenris’s unamused pout with laughter. His large hands as they cupped his face for a kiss.

“Did that help? I can try again,” he asked. 

“Thank you Cole,” Fenris nodded, holding back tears. “You were most helpful.”

“Varric says it’s okay to cry,” Cole nodded, his speech wavered in and out of normal. “Varric cries a lot. Most of the Inquisition cries happy and sad tears now. Except the Inquisitor.”

Cole pulled at his hat and shook his head. He lowered his voice even quieter, barely above a whisper.

“Her heart hardened like the bleak bricked walls of her room. Her cage. A bulwark against corruption and destruction. The weight is crushing, crumbling, chipping pieces of her armor away. So tired and fragile but standing tall to fight away doubt. Slumber unsettled with solitude and sorrow. Alone even there. ‘Ar lath ma, Vhenan’ she whispers to the woods. ”

Fenris didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t imagine that someone could be hurting like he was. She’d lost someone too it seemed. This war took from everyone, no one was excluded from the misfortunes of battle. He’d misjudged her. If he was any indication, sorrow and anguish could hide behind any face. 

Even one as cold as hers. 

“Her pain is the loudest right now, like the cracking of a looking glass. She is breaking. Her soul screams for relief but her pride won’t accept it. I want to help but it hurts my head,” Cole stepped side to side. “Will  _ you  _ help me?”

“I...why?” Fenris looked around uncomfortably. “Certainly you have other...friends?”

“Yes,” Cole nodded. “But you want to apologize.”

He did want to but he was rattled by this spirit’s ability to read his intentions. This was the best way to make amends and ask for her help. Cole hardly seemed like a spirit in that moment and instead was a hopeful child looking up to him. He sighed, giving in to the doe-eyed look on the boy’s face.

“What must I do?” he asked.

*****

This seems foolish, he told himself. It would never work. He entered the hall with the tray Cole supplied him with. It was just some food from the tavern and a pot of hot water. How would he even get to her quarters? It was likely guarded, the fault his own. 

The main hall was quieter than usual and most of the nobles had left. The only ones remained were those sitting near the fire, listening to tales of grandeur. The soldiers posted at the office door were gone; War room session over with. No guards at the door Cole described so he opened it and began the climb. 

It wasn’t a long climb but it gave him a little time to think. 

What happened to Lavellan? Who did she lose that caused her such silent suffering? Would she be able to help him? Hawke was alive all she had to do was open a rift so he could find him. All in a day's work for her, right?

He approached the door and found it ajar. Fenris shouldered his way in and went up the small flight of steps. As he scaled a balcony came into view. And the Inquisitor was standing on it staring out into the mountainscape. 

“Iris ma ghilas, Vhenan?” she whispered but barely heard it. “Ir renan tel’mara ma sahlin.”

Her face was grim as she looked down from her terrace to the frozen river below it. Fenris continued walking in, thinking his steps would alert her. If she heard them she did not indicate so. He placed the tray on her table and watched her, confused.

Lavellan climbed up onto the railing in one swift movement; he didn’t even hear her step. What was she doing? Fenris stepped closer, eyes furrowed. She balanced on the little wall with both hands out like a bird preparing for flight. Lavellan then lifted a foot and stretched it forward.

Fenris grabbed her hand quickly.

“What are you doing?!” Fenris asked.

He expected shock on her face. Or fear at the realization she could have fallen. But he saw nothing there, only a hollow stare. 

“You again,” she sighed and stepped down from the ledge. She whipped her hand out of his grasp. “You have a talent for arriving where you’re not wanted.”

She sidestepped him back into her room and spotted the tray. Lavellan shook her head and sighed a comment in regards to Cole. It appeared she knew who assisted him. Fenris followed her back inside but she ignored the food and went to her desk. 

“What do you want?” she asked. “I have work to do.”

“I brought food, as an apology for earlier,” he told her but she gave him a disbelieving stare. He shook his head with a sigh, his repentant look unsuccessful. “I’m here for Hawke,” Fenris explained. 

Lavellan stopped writing and looked up. Her eyes closed as a pained realization washed over her face. She knew of Hawke and now recognized him as the former slave from Varric’s tales. The lover of the Champion. She knew one day each of her decisions would come to bite her in the ass. She swallowed and responded with composure.

“And you’re hoping for...reparations?” she asked, trying to focus back on her writing. 

“He is not dead,” Fenris corrected her. 

“I don’t doubt it but he may as well be,” Lavellan spoke as she wrote another letter. 

“You knew?” Fenris gaped and then anger started to rear. He felt a need to retract the apology to her. “You knew and did nothing?!”

“Nothing to be done, it was sealed,” she stood and walked over to her shelf. 

How could she be so damn calm about it? Didn’t she realize what she’d done? 

“You made him stay! Closed him in!” Fenris followed her, trying very hard not to strike her. 

“I am aware!” she whirled on him, frustration in her voice. “I had to make that decision! I am the Inquisitor! If it were up to me no one would die, no one would get hurt, and no one would leave!”

It was the most emotion he’d seen on her face. A sad anger stemming from hundreds of decisions that she herself was responsible for. Every death on the Inquisition’s behalf was on her hands and she was well aware of it. She regained her composure before speaking again, calming the storm that was her face a moment ago.

“But there will always be casualties of war and my job is to make them as small as possible.  The Warden’s needed a leader to rebuild and Hawke had already contributed to the cause as much as he could. So Hawke staying was the choice I made. It was not a decision I made lightly and I will live with the consequences,” she pushed past him with the books she’d retrieved from the shelf and sat back down.

He couldn’t believe her candor about it. It didn’t sound like she even regretted her decisions. She even justified them. And the worst part was that if it wasn’t Hawke he’d have agreed with her. It was the rational choice.

But it was Hawke.

“So you will do nothing?” Fenris growled. 

“What would you have me to do Master Fenris?” she looked up, her face expecting an answer he did not have ready. “Open up a rift into the fade? Because it is so simple and certainly something I haven’t tried doing multiple times since Adamant. It is not like this... _ thing _ ...came with a manual detailing the inner workings of the Fade.”

She’d tried opening the Fade. She wanted to help Hawke. But there was nothing she could do. Fenris could feel himself losing all hope. Anger evaporating into sadness. Nothing? They could do nothing? Everything was collapsing. His legs felt weak and he backed up into the chair at the table.

Fenris sat, a hand at his face trying to comprehend what was happening. He came all this way for nothing? Hawke was alive in the Fade for who knew how much longer. Given hope only to find it crushed before him. He’d never felt so helpless before. 

Lavellan sighed and stood from her desk. She strode silently across the room to the opposing chair and took a seat. Her eyes looked to him sympathetic as she brewed her tea.

“Ir abelas,” she said. “I have tried gaining access to the Fade again but opening rifts is nothing like closing them. Piercing the veil is harder than repairing it. And even if I could get back inside, the Fade is vast; unconstrained by space and time. We could look for years and never find the exact spot the Champion is.”

“Is there anything that can be done? Anything?” Fenris asked, almost begging for a positive response. 

Lavellan shook her head. “It is beyond my knowledge and the one person who knows the Fade better than anyone I know is gone.”

She poured the cup of tea and handed it to Fenris before pouring one for herself. He took it absentmindedly and stared into the steam drifting from it. He couldn’t give up, not like this. If he had to he’d talk to every expert on the Fade in Thedas. He’d talk to every mage he could find. And he hated mages.

“Where to even begin?” he asked himself. 

“Our library has plenty of books on the Fade if you want to browse it. The Madame enchanter might be able to give you information but I’m afraid that’s all I can offer,” she sighed. “Ir abelas...”

“If I were to find something, something that might work, would you help me?” he asked. “You’re the only one with the power…”

She opened her mouth to remind him how she tried but closed it; he would not listen to her. And it would not help his troubled mind. Instead, she nodded her head and excused herself. Many letters and trade agreements needed to be sent out to varying diplomats. Fenris left the cup there and started the descent down her stairs but stopped as he fingered something in his pocket. 

“Forget something?”

“You are Dalish. I wish something translated, a note left to me,” he turned and ascended back up. “I read common and not well. Elven is beyond me.”

She furrowed her brow at the irony and took the note from his hands. Her eyes read it quickly enough but stared longer. Lavellan bit at her lip as she read it once more. Twice more. She swallowed before speaking.

“Where did you get this?” she asked barely above a whisper. Her eyes softened as she read.

“A stranger. What does it say?” Fenris wondered what could cause her to whisper like her heart was being crushed.

“You must continue to endure. Give not sorrow your heart. Safe journey,” she whispered. “Na renan mara ar, Vhenan.” 

Lavellan looked at the note as if it were a long lost love. Her eyes threatened tears but none fell from their perch. A sigh escaped her chest, relief of some sort but haggard, as if she’d been holding it too long. She remembered she was not alone and folded it up, then sat up straight in her chair. The note was extended back to him and Fenris took it from her.

“It is a common enough phrase. Given to those in mourning so that they persevere,” Lavellan cleared her throat. “Good luck, Master Fenris.”

It was his cue to leave and so he did. He trudged down the stairs to the main hall. Then to the mural room where he woke up before. Varric wasn’t there. No one was. It was the perfect place for him then. The less foot traffic the better. He climbed up the scaffolding and flopped backwards on it, looking up to the ceiling. Stairs and more railings that spiraled up; the place was huge.

In all the commotion he hadn’t thought to look for Dog. The creature just disappeared the moment they arrived at Skyhold. Fenris wondered where he wandered off to but wasn’t worried. Mabari were too smart to get into trouble they couldn’t get out of. But he had the tea from the strange elf and Fenris wanted a little before falling asleep.

Then again, he didn’t want it.

It was a double edged sword. If he didn’t drink he’d have to see Hawke fighting for survival in the Fade; it was all he ever dreamed about but it was the only way to see Hawke. If he drank it then he could sleep but wouldn’t know how Hawke was and when he woke up he’d wonder if Hawke died in the night. Pain either way. 

“Fasta Vass. Venhedis,” he cursed under his breath, angry. Did the Maker intend for him to suffer for the rest of his life?

“Who’s down there? Inquisitor?” called a voice from above. “Ah, hello there, I thought perhaps...well, nevermind that. You’re new, aren’t you?”

“Forgive me, I’m not in a talkative mood,” Fenris replied and rolled to his side. 

“There are beds in the bunkhouse that are much more comfortable than where you’re sleeping, I’m sure you’re aware. Unless, perhaps you enjoy a quiet place; after all, no one comes in here anymore,” said a mustached man at the next floor banister. “People are afraid they’ll get in trouble for sleeping where you are.”

He hated when his curiosity was piqued. Fenris rolled onto his back and looked up.

“Why?” he asked, pretending not to care.

“You really don’t know? You poor thing, come on up to the library. Allow me to educate you,” he smiled and left the railing.

Fenris cursed again, not wanting to get up but at the mention of the library he managed to find the energy. Afterwards he could browse some works on the Fade before sleep took him. He abandoned his cloak but not his weapon, as he’d grown used to having it at his side the past weeks, before he trudged up yet another flight of stairs. 

“You look exhausted. Terrible, I might add. Dorian Pavus,” he said and extended a hand. Fenris did not take it. 

“Mage from Tevinter,” Fenris grumbled, remembering the Iron Bull’s comment. He wished he’d stayed downstairs. “Surprising to find someone like you welcome among the Inquisition’s ranks.”

“It wasn’t easy getting here, but there’s no place I’d rather be,” Dorian smiled. “You’re a strange looking elf but if I’ve learned anything it’s that the Inquisition is a beacon for all things abnormal. Charming Tevinter mages included. Have a seat before you collapse from fatigue.”

Fenris sat at a table while Dorian retrieved a bottle of wine. Terrible stuff, he said, but all the Inquisition had. Ferelden wine was awful but at least it wasn’t Antivan. Fenris wasn’t sure he wanted any but took a glass anyway and placed it to the side.

“You thought I was the Inquisitor? Why?” Fenris asked as Dorian helped himself to some wine.

“Well, because...hmm, I suppose some background is in order. That room down there belonged to Solas, a hedge mage of the Inquisition. He painted all those murals down there using some kind of Elven fresco,” Dorian paused to take another drink. “He preferred to be alone if possible, quite the loner. Rubbed a lot of people the wrong way but was fond of the Inquisitor. And she of him.”

“Lovers?” Fenris guessed.

“I imagine so. And then he left, without so much as a farewell. The Inquisitor is taking it hard,” Dorian sighed. “Not that it’s easy to tell. Most think she is as she always was; stern, distant, calm; as if the parting was painless. But she has changed. And not for the better. I was thinking she might visit his room and reminisce on good times.”

“Instead of the bad?” Fenris completed the thought. 

Dorian nodded and drank another glass full. He thanked Fenris for the drinking company; everyone else was incredibly dull to drink with. Fenris took that to mean they didn’t gossip with him like he wanted. 

“I know who you are,” Dorian leaned forward with a realization. “Varric told me a story about you. Former slave of a Tevinter magister. The companion to the Champion. Said you’d hate me if we ever met. You know, I don’t think he ever said your name? No matter, since I heard it in the Fade. Fenris, I believe.”

Fenris blinked. That was right. Varric said something about the people who went into the Fade with Hawke. Wasn’t Dorian one of the names? 

“Hawke mentioned me?” Fenris asked, reaching for his wine and taking a sip. It wasn’t too bad. Reminded him of the bottles at the Amell estate. Garrett loved Ferelden wine. 

“That would be rather romantic, wouldn’t it?” Dorian winked and then shook his head. “I’m afraid your name came out of the mouth of a fear demon trying to unnerve our party. The same fear demon he stayed behind to fight. An admirable man, the Champion.”

“I...thank you,” Fenris swallowed. At least Dorian had good eyes. He imagined the man was a black sheep back in Tevinter and just as out of place there. 

“Why are you here, Fenris?” Dorian asked the inevitable question.

Fenris put the glass on the table and leaned back. He had to explain to another stranger? Talking wasn’t his favorite thing in the world. It was why Hawke was such a blessing at outings; he did all the talking for Fenris. Sometimes too much talking. Especially when Fenris had other plans for his mouth. He smirked at the memory.

“To get my stupid mage back,” Fenris looked him in the eyes. “Do you know this library well?”

“Well enough, I suppose. Need help researching something? Fade related I’m guessing,” Dorian drained the last of the glass. “Don’t look at me that way, I’m not an idiot. If you want the Champion back it will involve all that Fade nonsense and though I’m loathe to go there again I am also incredibly bored. I’ll need another bottle of this dreadful stuff though.”

And that was how Fenris spent the entire night with a Tevinter mage, reading through books at a table by lantern; interrupted by the occasional drink of Ferelden wine. He never imagined such a thing would ever happen. The elf read slowly but thoroughly while the mage tossed books over his shoulder every quarter hour all the while spouting what terrible shite the library had. If southern Thedas wasn’t so fearful of every magic spell in the world there would be more written on it. Fenris hated to but was beginning to agree.

“Maker, you take forever to read,” Dorian commented. “I think it’s been eight years since you turned a page.”

“I only started reading a few years ago,” Fenris growled. “It is not like my _ magister master _ taught his precious  _ slaves _ to read.”

“Ah, right,” Dorian reddened, embarrassed. “In that case you’re doing rather well.”

“Have you found anything?” Fenris asked, serious. 

“Nothing of consequence. Except for this little bit here,” Dorian brought a book over to him. “The fact that dreams are inherently connected to the Fade and you keep seeing him in your dreams is a good sign. The Fade is vast so it is very strange that you would continue to dream in the same ‘place’, as it were. An emotional connection is useful in tracking him and might assist you when you get there.”

“ _ When _ ? You believe I can get there?” Fenris looked up from the book Dorian handed him. 

“Of course I do. Didn’t I say I was a hopeless romantic? Love conquers all and all that tripe,” Dorian chuckled with a smile. “Cassandra would be swooning on the floor listening to this.”

Fenris smiled, the first real smile he’d felt in months. All because someone else believed it was possible. He forgot how powerful it felt, to have someone in his corner for once. He could overlook the Tevinter part. 

“Just don’t take me with you. I had enough the first go around,” Dorian shook his head at the memory. 

They browsed through even more books, some in languages Fenris couldn’t read. Dorian read through those. A scout or someone came around and scolded them for leaving all the books on the floor. Fenris wasn’t really paying attention but Dorian started stacking them into an impossibly unstable tower on the table instead in protest.

There was a tid bit in one book he found interesting. When normal people dreamed they sometimes visited the Fade but never remembered it. Normally only mages remembered their time there. This blew his mind. He could remember every instance in which he saw Hawke while sleeping, which made him wonder if it was the Fade at all and not just wishful thinking. Dorian pointed out that his lyrium tattoos might be assisting in his transition to the Fade. Mages use lyrium to cross over in the Fade all the time. Dorian could easily believe the markings assisting in this endeavor and allowing him to remember the accounts. 

Dorian had no idea how relieving that was to hear.

Fenris put a few books under his arm when it got late and took them down to the mural room. He dumped them off at the top of the scaffolding, descended for the lantern on the table, and rejoined the pile of tomes to start once again. It hurt his eyes reading by dim light but it was better than nothing. At some point he must have put the book down and fallen asleep because before he knew it he was dreaming again. 

*****

How long can a man run before his legs quit him? With all the distance Fenris watched him run he’d have thought Hawke’s legs would have given up by now. He was glad they hadn’t but the mage’s steps were getting heavier as he strode. 

Hawke looked horrible. Clothes stained with blood and bile, hopefully both from his enemies. He’d made a splint for his arm. Broken. Fenris could almost feel the wracking ache in his own flesh. Lips chapped and split, mouth panting. He was so tired he was using his staff to support himself when he slowed down. 

Then the worst thing Fenris could imagine happened. 

Hawke fell to his hands and knees; his staff rolling to the side. He cried out in pain and grabbed at the broken arm he foolishly used to stop his fall, then rolled to his back. Hawke wheezed; the excruciating pain traveled up his arm making him grit his teeth. He just laid there, out in the open. Exposed. Then he slowly started to close his eyes, too tired to stay awake. 

And all Fenris could do is watch.

“No!” Fenris tried to yell but it came out like a gasping breath. So quiet not even a nug could hear it. 

Fenris approached but each step felt like he was lugging anvils with his feet. He was only a couple of yards away but it might as well have been miles. Step. Step. Inches closer. Step. Step. He pulled his legs against whatever invisible force was trying to hold him. His legs were shaking from the strain until he fell to his knees.

“Hawke!” he tried again but he was silenced by the thick air, choking his voice.

He crawled closer, not bothering to try and stand. And by some miracle his hand reached Hawke’s face. It didn’t feel like skin, in fact it felt like nothing. Nothing physical. His hand went through him and felt like warm water. 

“No, no, no. Venhedis! Hawke! Get up!” Fenris screamed at him but it was little more than a whisper this time. “Can’t give up, you imbecile! I’m coming!”

Hawke’s eyes fluttered open and searched the air but didn’t focus on a single point. Fenris smiled with excitement. He couldn’t see him but maybe, just maybe he could hear him. 

“Yes! Get up!” Fenris yelled, tears in his eyes. “Do it.”

He slowly leaned up, wincing. He fumbled for his staff and used it to pull himself up from the ground. Fenris wished he could help, wished he could push him up to his feet. Garrett Hawke limped his way to a crevice almost too narrow for his body to fit through until he was hidden from sight. He sat down unceremoniously and winced again as he attempted some weak healing spells on his injuries. 

“Wish I’d taken more lessons from Anders…” he rasped and flinched as his spell rebounded, healing nothing.

Fenris crawled that way as well, his body still heavy until he was sitting next to Hawke. He looked out of the hiding place, making sure nothing was coming. Not that he could do anything to stop the monsters from getting him. Hawke gasped and wheezed as he attempted the spell again. 

“Everything hurts...I haven’t felt this bad since...god, that dragon,” he mumbled to himself. “But I wasn’t the worst looking one there...was I?”

Fenris remembered. Hawke looked worse than now back then but he had a party with him. And potions. That fight was horrendous. 

Aveline came out the healthiest with only a scrape on her cheek and dented armor. Varric nearly lost all his chest hair; all that fire singed it nice and short. It would grow back Hawke joked and it did. Hawke had tried to be in the middle of the fight when he should have been on the outskirts with the dwarf; where mages belong.

Fenris had looked the worst. So used to diving right into battle without a care to his health. Used to being a weapon that did the damage and wasn’t allowed to complain about it. He’d pushed himself too hard in that fight. Bleeding from everywhere, feet burned and blistered, breath ragged. So prideful he wouldn’t accept magical assistance to heal. If Hawke hadn’t checked on him that night. He’d have bled to death on the mansion floor. 

“I looked like something a demon shat out,” Fenris chuckled. It was easier to whisper than to yell.

Fenris tried to snuggle closer and could feel warmth which was better than nothing. 

“So tired,” Hawke whispered, his eyelids heavy.

“Sleep,” Fenris spoke and did his best to caress his face. “I’ll be here.”

Hawke closed his eyes and dipped his head before letting out an exhausted breath. His hand was still holding tight to his staff, ready to use it at a moment’s notice. Fenris put his hand on Hawke’s knee and kept a wary eye on the opening of the crevice. The whole night was spent that way, with Fenris stealing momentary glances at his slumbering mage. 

After a while he could feel himself waking up and leaned over to Hawke. 

“Have to go but I’ll be back,” he whispered. “Don’t forget me.”

Fenris blinked awake, expecting the room to be dark as his lantern had gone out. But there was a light glow travelling across the bottom floor. A flickering candle held by...Inquisitor Lavellan.

She did not look up at him. Didn’t even notice he was there. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to alert her. 

He watched as she visited the murals, her steps made not a sound as she moved. She walked to each one and gazed upon it silently. It wasn’t until she’d gotten to the third that he could see she was touching each one and whispering words in elvish. Whatever she was saying, her words dripped with sadness.

She was nearly at the painting beside and below him when he could finally hear her.

“Lasa’din abelas arla’mala,” she whispered. “I’m trying...but it's not so easy, Vhenan. I’m drowning.”

Lavellan placed a hand on the wall and slid down to her knees with a whimper. She clenched her fist and raised it as if to hit the wall but held back. It shook, ready to punch the surface but lost the will and dropped to the floor. 

“Ma halani, vhenan. Ma garas arla,” Lavellan whimpered. “Ar nuvenin ma.”

Fenris didn’t have to speak elvish to understand her. She pined for her love and wanted nothing more than to see him again. But Lavellan would never abandon her post. Lavellan had a duty to uphold. Even if it meant sacrificing her happiness she would stay. 

Fenris could not imagine giving up the search for Hawke for the benefit of others. Call him selfish but Hawke meant more than every person in Thedas. He would cross the world and kill anyone that stood in his way if it meant he could be with Hawke forever. 

“Mala suledin nadas,” she swallowed and stood, strengthening her posture. “I will endure.”

He saw her leave as quietly as she entered before leaning back on the slat. 

Strong and silent Lavellan visited her lover’s room in the deepest darkest hours of the night to gaze upon the only thing he left behind. The only thing beside her broken heart. To mourn in private so as not to give the impression of a weakening leader. Image was important to this army and she could not allow her backers, her soldiers, or even her friends to see her resolve compromised. How sad, he thought. Bound by duty and responsibility to a cause that still desperately needed her.  
  
She had his sympathies but he had his own problems. So he rolled over in his cloak and went back to sleep. 


	6. Chapter 6

Fenris jolted awake at the loud echoing bark from the floor. Dog. He was so loud and excited that Fenris could _hear_ him wagging his stump of a tail. He barked again and Fenris finally raised a hand.

“Enough, I am awake,” Fenris sighed.

“Is this your...creature?” asked a woman clad in white. Fenris hadn’t noticed her standing next to the dog until she spoke. Dark skin with perfect complexion and poise befitting a royal. But her expression told him she was less than pleased.

“Define ‘your’,” Fenris said, to which she stared, unamused. “Yes, he is my travelling companion.”

“Then I’ll kindly inform you of the state in which he left my things,” she began.

And she didn’t stop talking for nearly twenty minutes. Dog apparently rummaged through her things eating no less than two books, five feather quills, and an entire box of Orlesian sweets. He then slept on her lounge, getting fur and wet animal smell on it that would be impossible to remove. Fenris just glared from on high at the animal in question who looked guiltily down at the floor.

“I can provide you with a list if necessary, detailing the damage and the cost of replacing said items,” she explained and at this point he would take the list if it made her stop talking and leave him alone.

“Fenris, I found a-oh! Vivienne,” Dorian peered over the edge waving a book. “Are you helping with the research as well?”

“Research?” Vivienne peered up.

Dorian explained the situation, which was nice as Fenris sure didn’t want to explain it again. Plus, he was too busy scolding Hawke’s beast for the trouble he caused. Luckily, Hawke could probably afford the pricetag on the damaged goods; Fenris sure as hell wasn’t paying for it.

“Fascinating, darling. You intend to venture into the Fade?” Vivienne asked, her damaged goods long forgotten.

“To find Hawke,” Fenris nodded.

“Your motivations are not what concern me most. I was left out of the last outing through the veil and am thoroughly disappointed I did not merit an invite to this undertaking,” she spoke dramatically. “I’m crushed you didn’t think to inform me, Dorian.”

“I was going to tell you today, Madame Enchanter,” Dorian assured her with a twist of his mustache. “I’m hurt that you think so little of me.”

Fenris couldn’t decide if they were nitpicky friends or playful enemies. After a few more well mannered jabs at each other Vivienne turned to Fenris with a smile. It wasn’t until he was off the scaffolding that he realized how tall she was and how she towered over him. She was rather stunning in an intimidatingly beautiful way. It was hard to explain.

“I shall assist you, my dear. I have been compiling my own data on the Fade in lieu of our absent Fade specialist,” Vivienne gave a nod that Fenris took to be a bow of respect. He gave one back, mostly because he felt it would be unwise not to.

“I appreciate any help you can provide, Madame Enchanter,” Fenris told her. So many mages...

“So well mannered,” she smiled. “ You could learn a thing or two Dorian.”

“I’m polite,” Dorian said, feigning offense.

“Master Fenris at least means it,” Vivienne raised a brow and lead the way. “Come. Let me show you my private collection.”

Following her up the library steps and across the room brought him to a large open window. It was framed with ornate chairs and carved side tables decorated with candles and books. The walls had golden mosaics with a Tevinter style depicting the creation of darkspawn. Expertly crafted. Vivienne lifted a book from the pile and handed it to him.

He took it and sat on the floor to begin reading it.

“Oh no, my dear. Sit on the chair. You are not a dog or barbarian,” Vivienne gestured to the other chair and took a seat in hers before reading a different book.

“Does it really matter?” he asked.

“While here you represent the Inquisition whether you believe it or not. And appearance has a large effect on the populace. You may not like it but it still rings true. If you are to take advantage of the Inquisitor's hospitality the least you can do is remove the outward display of impropriety,” she rattled off. “Image means everything to an organization.”

Fenris listened carefully. He didn’t want to cause trouble for Lavallen; she promised to help him if he found anything. And she was working hard to keep the coalition together despite her emotional issues. He stood and took the chair.

“Comfortable, isn’t it?” Vivienne commented by the look of surprise on his face. “If Orlesians excel at anything, it’s certainly comfortable living.”

For three days Fenris travelled between the library and Vivienne’s nook reading on the Fade. Dorian was helping by reading anything in foreign tongues. Vivienne wrote to some of her trusted mage acquaintances for information. Varric bothered him a few times but left when he stopped acknowledging his presence. He still hadn’t quite forgiven him and wasn’t sure if he ever would.

At night he went to the tavern to eat, usually after going an entire day without meals. The moment he finished eating he went back to the books until he fell asleep in the pages. Hawke still showed in his dreams, hiding more than running lately which had Fenris extremely worried.

He needed to hurry.

“So, I think I’ve found a way to do this incredibly dangerous and foolish thing,” Dorian piped up and held two books open in opposite hands.

“Do enlighten us dear,” Vivienne gestured for him to continue.

They would need to travel. A long way. To Adamant. A journey that might take them over a month. Weeks if they did so on minimal rest. Long story short, they needed a location where the veil was thin from recent magical activity.

“Are there not closer places?” Fenris frowned at the month of travelling time. He didn’t think Hawke had that long.

“Of course there is but location has significance,” Vivienne nodded, getting where Dorian was coming from. “You think perhaps if we can get it open, it’ll open near where the Champion was left?”

Dorian nodded.

So they _had_ to go to Adamant. They would also need mages like they did when closing the breach to power up the Anchor. The Inquisitor’s mark. Fenris wasn’t there but he’d have to take their word for it.

“Mages and the Inquisitor,” Fenris guessed as much.

“And then we’ll need you,” Dorian levelled his eyes at Fenris.

“Me?”

“Yes, the mages and the Inquisitor will use you as a focus. Your connection to Hawke will bridge the gap between here and the Fade. Emotions are the only thing that reside in both places at once,” Dorian closed the books in both of his hand simultaneously.

Fenris didn’t know much about magic but he was ready. He would leave right then if they could. But supplies needed to be gathered. Horses prepared. Mages contacted. And then they had to run the whole plan by the Inquisitor. Dorian puffed his cheeks and let out a sigh at the mention of the Inquisitor.

“Yes...The Inquisitor,” Dorian held his chin, worriedly. “She’ll need to be...rested. And ready emotionally, if we want this to succeed.”

“That will be difficult,” Vivienne lowered her eyes. “A broken heart does not easily beat again; speaking from experience.”

They looked as though the endeavor had already failed before even beginning. It dampened Fenris’s spirit. The worry must have caught Dorian’s attention, for he perked up and laid a gentle hand on the elf’s shoulder that for once he didn’t shake off.

“Worry not, friend,” Dorian smiled. “I’m certain the time it takes to ride there will be time enough to calm her mind.”

“But not her heart,” Vivienne shook her head. “Don’t misunderstand; It may still work. But my advice to you Master Fenris is this...prepare yourself, should the worst happen.”

Fenris wanted to argue. To disagree. They didn’t need her doubt. Her pessimism. It would work, they simply needed to keep their hope burning. The way Hawke would.

For now he needed to find the Inquisitor. Dorian and Vivienne would gather all the mages they could and send messages out to ones who might be in the area. Fenris nodded, gathered up the appropriate books and excused himself, walking quickly to Lavellan’s quarters, shoving past Orlesian nobles and whispering guests.

He found her room empty. She wasn’t on the balcony either. He left the books on her desk before looking elsewhere. Checking with Josephine revealed there was no War Room meeting and she hadn’t gathered a party for leaving the Keep. Where was the Inquisitor then?

She was nowhere to be found in the Infirmary though one of the clerics there said she’d visited them recently with a new batch of elfroot potions. She even helped administer some to the patients there. The Iron Bull said she almost never came to the tavern and Krem shrugged while practicing in the courtyard with the other Chargers.

“Are you looking for the Inquisitor, Master Fenris?” said a woman as he exited the Tavern. Dark hair cut short, a stern look upon her scarred face. He did not recognize her but she stood like a warrior, chest out, shoulders back, and her scrutinizing gaze analyzing him.

“Have we met?” Fenris inquired with a slight glare.

“No...we have not. I am Cassandra Pentaghast, formerly a Seeker. Varric told me of your arrival but a few days ago, though it is not difficult to recognize you from his tales,” she nodded. “He said you were looking for her. The Inquisitor. She often disappears like this. And you will likely not find her unless she wants to be found.”

“Then you stopped me to...tell me you do not know where she is either,” Fenris frowned. “Could have done without the distraction.”

“That was not my intention,” she shook her head and sighed. “I merely meant to say, the best course of action isn’t to search for her. She will show up at dusk eventually.”

“I see,” Fenris said, his eyes scanning the area.

“But you will search anyway, won’t you?” she huffed. “Suit yourself, Master Fenris. Maker be with you.”

Fenris searched the ramparts, peeked into the stables, and even searched the dungeon. He came across a smith that overlooked a waterfall but the man there was alone and hammering away on an anvil. No Inquisitor. The library resulted in no success either.

He asked the guards if the Inquisitor left the stronghold but they shook their heads. If she had left they’d have hardly noticed. When Lavellan didn’t wish to be seen, she wasn’t. He even searched the garden and the rooms near it. Found a room with a statue of Andraste and a few worshippers. Some offices. The last room caught him by surprise.

A large mirror like the one he came through. If he’d known one was here he could have been at Skyhold that much faster. It was inactive. And other than the glass the room was empty. The search was frustrating him. Skyhold was large but not that large. Someone had to have seen her somewhere but they all shrugged and shook their heads at him. He cursed under his breath, flexing his fingers into fists trying to contain his anger, before stomping across the garden.

“Are you alright child?” an elderly woman asked. A cleric of Andraste.

“Do not mind me Reverend Mother,” he said respectfully. “Trying to find someone.”

“You look weary. Perhaps you should rest a moment,” she suggested.

“I do not have time to rest,” he stepped by her.

She seemed disappointed. “You may overlook something vital in your search if your eyes haven’t the energy to see.”

He let out an exasperated sigh and turned to look at her. Older woman with a kind face. Wise eyes and a gentle smile. She gestured at the tree, inviting him to take a seat. The reverend mother waited there expectantly in the shade. If what the Seeker said was true he was wasting his energy anyway. Fenris resigned to rest and sat next to her, his legs and arms crossed in thought.

“Tell me child. What troubles your mind?” the woman smiled.

“I...do not subscribe to...the Maker. And I am not certain you could...or would want to help,” he said uncomfortably.

“There are many here who do not sing praise to the Maker,” she said. “That does not mean they cannot use someone to talk to. Someone to unload their burdens to.”

“My burden is not for anyone else to carry,” he told her.

“Then to share,” she amended. “To relieve yourself of tension.”

He’d never thought to simply talk with someone about his predicament. He only thought to explain what he needed, not what he worried about. Not his fears. They seemed alone enough so he relaxed to bare his thoughts to her.

The letter. His journey. The people he met along the way. Herren. Lysette. The mysterious wanderer. And all the thoughts he’d had in between. How he worried about Hawke constantly. How he missed his stupid jokes and terrible cooking. The way he pulled at his beard when he was thinking. That boisterous laugh when he was drunk; it was so contagious that Fenris would laugh too. She listened quietly as he spoke.

“Never thought to miss him while he was gone. I did not fear he would not return to me,” Fenris spoke. “Hawke would not dare travel where I could not follow him...And I will follow, always.”

“You are very devoted, Master elf,” she commented.

“Hawke...he dedicated his life to helping people...He saved me. From the past. From our misadventures. From myself,” Fenris smiled, looking at the crest on his hip. “I could not call myself his friend, his companion, if I were not willing to do the same for him.”

“How did you meet your Champion?” she asked. Clearly, she’d never heard Varric tell the tale and he wondered if the story seemed different told from another’s mouth.

An hour passed  before he realized how long he’d been chattering.

“Apologies. I did not mean to steal your time,” he said as he stood. “I should return to my search.”

“How do you feel? Better?” she asked and he nodded in response. She looked up into the branches of the tree before speaking again. “You see, you needn’t believe in the Maker to have his light warm your path.”

He looked up as well to take in the beams of light through the leaves with a slight smile. Fenris blinked in surprise to find a pair of icy blue eyes looking down on him.

“Inquisitor!” he said.

"Master Fenris,” she nodded and began to climb down. “You were looking for me.”

“Yes,” he nodded, wondering how long she’d been in the tree.

“Come with me then,” she nodded to the reverend mother. “Good day mother Giselle.”

“Anytime you need me, Inquisitor,” Giselle smiled back.

Lavellan led the way through the main hall, nodding as people called out to her. When she walked in the populated areas she stood tall, with her chest out and an air of authority about her. Her posture did not change again until they were alone in her room, when she let out a deep sigh.

He understood now why she did such a thing; performed for them. It wasn’t in her nature to be imposing all the time but her position required it. It was little wonder she tried to escape to quiet unwatched places and seemed too tired to speak. She washed her face in a basin and dried it with a rag.

“I suppose you want to leave soon,” Lavellan hung the rag on a hook. “You shuffle your feet side to side...like an impatient Halla. Itching to travel.”

“Yes,” Fenris replied. “If we go to Adamant we can save him. But we must leave soon.”

“We?” she furrowed a brow and turned her head towards him. “I take it to mean you wish my company as well.”

Fenris nodded.

“I suppose I did promise to help you,” the Inquisitor sighed. “A fool’s errand. Suppose you make it to Adamant. That I open the way. Who is to say he won’t be dead? And if he isn’t...the Fade is a dangerous place; for the body and the mind. He might not be the same man you knew.”

“I am aware,” Fenris narrowed his eyes. “I must go.”

She looked at him, analyzing him with her frozen eyes. For a moment he believed she was testing his resolve. He maintained eye contact. Not flinching. Not wavering. He must have passed whatever criteria she had because Lavellan sort of smiled with a sigh and swept her hair to the side to scratch her head. She pulled some kind of fresh herb from her pocket and put it in her mouth to chew.

“I admire your...resolve,” she said after a moment. “Not sure what wellspring you draw from that gives you such determination. But I won’t make light of it’s usefulness. And getting out of these stone walls might be a refreshing change.”

“Then you will-”

She nodded and leaned against her desk.  
  
“Yes, I’ll ready for the journey. Tell Commander Cullen your plans,” Lavellan waved her hand. “Now leave me. I want to prepare alone.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHORT CHAPTER: Next will be longer

“What is this place?” Fenris asked, eyes taking in all the lush trees and golden sunlight. Great mounds of rocks and statues climbing towards the sky. It was familiar to him.  
  
“The Exalted Plains,” Inquisitor Lavellan informed him. 

“I feel I have visited this place before,” he revealed to her. “In a dream…”

“I’m not surprised to hear this,” Vivienne interjected. “Many of the elven folk feel a connection with this place, whether they have been here or not. They can feel the history of the land in their very blood.”

Lavellan looked away before commanding her forces forward, leaving Fenris on a horse next to the Madame Enchanter. The woman shook her head with a disappointed sigh. Maybe it was something she said that prompted that look on Lavellan’s face. Discontent. She did not favor the elves and their history like she once did. 

“Has the Inquisitor been here before?” He wondered.

“Yes,” she eyed the back of the Inquisitor many yards ahead of them. 

“You have heard that the Inquisitor is Dalish, have you not?” asked one of the dwarven scouts. “But certainly you have noticed she sports no Vallaslin like her brethren? Those blood tattoos. I heard tell that a member of the Inquisition removed her markings, in this very place.”

“Wrong, it was in the Emerald Graves,” said another.

“I heard it was in Crestwood,” spoke a quiet dwarf. 

“What does it matter where? Why do such a thing?” another one asked, a Dalish ally by the looks of her marks. “Why remove the signs of our heritage and history? Vallaslin is the pride of Dalish tradition…”

“Perhaps she wanted nothing to do with something that reminded her of her past,” Fenris finally intruded.

He never understood the Dalish and their obsession with tradition and history. They reminded him of Merrill and her foolish desire to keep that dangerous artifact. One that she used to help him he understood but that did not change the danger of the thing. It was foolish to dwell on the past when nothing could be done to reverse it. The present and the future were far more important. 

In addition, he did not like the rumor mongering and judging this elf was laying on their leader.  Especially, since he could empathize with the need to erase unfortunate memories. There were still times he wished he could forget every day as Danarius’s slave. If given the option he would gladly remove his own markings if the process would not kill him.

“Yes,” Enchanter Vivienne agreed with him and sent a sneer towards the Dalish ally. “It is no one’s place to criticize the decisions others make in regards to their own body. I insist this topic end here and no further mention of it should be made during this trip. For your own safety.”

The elf swallowed nervously and rode ahead, away from their group, in fear of the mage. Fenris wasn’t certain if Vivienne would make good on that threat but at least the rumoring would cease. It was a relief to see that Lavellan’s companions were protective of her and her privacy. Something Hawke would certainly do to protect his own friends. 

Travel across the Exalted Plains were fairly uneventful. They ran across a couple of bandits, which were dispatched by the Inquisitor and Varric before Fenris could even get off his horse. This in turn gave him the desire to be on his feet for the remainder of their stay in the woods. His skills would get rusty otherwise. So he gave the horse to a footsoldier in need of resting his feet. 

He wondered if they might run into any of Lavellan’s clan there. This was dismissed when Varric explained to him that they hailed from far to the north. In the Free Marches. It would be highly unlikely that they would run into one of her clansmen in the Graves. But that wasn’t to say they wouldn’t run into other clans. And sometimes clans swapped members for one reason or another, mostly involving an even distribution mages.

But they did not come across any other elves in the forest on the first night, nor the second. Once they crossed a river they came upon a small encampment of Dalish that welcomed them gladly. Lavellan even relaxed within the confines of their campsite. This group of particular Dalish was familiar with the Inquisition and a supporter of their work in the Plains.

Even with their friendship extended they gave the travelers space to themselves, which Fenris greatly appreciated. He was tired enough from the journey, the last thing he wanted to add on to that was conversation. A few of the Dalish eyed him with curiosity and at least one with extreme interest. Giving them a displeased glare kept them from approaching him as he sat on the outskirts of their camp near the river, looking to the sky. 

How many more nights?

How many more nights would he spend away from Hawke? Peering in on him from a distance within his dreams, unable to assist him. Hawke started moving again in these dreams. Not quickly but never did he stay in the same place for more than half a day. And each time Fenris saw him he was sleeping, too tired for the pace he was setting. Or he sported new cuts or bruises. He wanted to scold Hawke for moving before he was rested. Called him an idiot for running on a sprained ankle, among his other injuries. 

But the last thing he wanted was Hawke to lay down for a long rest and then...never rise again.

As long as Hawke kept moving, he had hope. 

“Have you eaten?” asked Lavellan as she took a seat next to him, a solemn look on her face.

He shook his head and she handed him the bowl of stew she was carrying. Then Lavellan sighed and clutched her knees, looking into the river. It was slow flowing, without bubbles or sudden dips. Which meant it perfectly reflected the stars in the sky above them. 

He remembered the night she came into the rotunda and touched all the frescos, with the saddest look in her eyes. Different from what she wore now. Stern and tired. What kinds of faces did she make before he met her? Was she happier then? He couldn’t even imagine a genuine smile that wasn’t tinged with furrowed brows. A chuckle without that painful ache behind it.

“Don’t you wish to eat with your comrades?” Fenris asked, shifting his head towards the fire and the others. 

“No, I have no appetite lately,” she sighed. “Plus, they talk too much and I prefer silence. Not unlike you.”

It was true enough and he continued with the food she’d given him. They stared at the sky in peace. He finished the bowl and rinsed it out in the river before setting it aside. He then fidgeted with the cloth on his wrist. Red and torn from bottom of Hawke’s bed sheets. Hawke never noticed the damaged sheet, at least not until Orana started crying while washing it, thinking she’d get in trouble for the tear. 

Hawke insisted it was fine and held the girl until she stopped crying. 

But that was after things had been put on hold between them. After Fenris decided to leave. To put distance between them. He thought it would be for the better. And it wasn’t. 

Distance never improved anything, in relation to everything in his life. It never protected him from Danarius. He still came after him. It never kept Hawke from getting hurt in their many battles. He still took damage for him. And now he was alone in the Fade because they thought the distance couldn’t harm them anymore.

Fenris shook his head and took a deep breath from the strip of fabric. It still smelled of Hawke’s bed after a wash in Embrium soap. And lyrium potions covered in dust from ancient ruins. And Dog after rolling in...

“Get lost you infernal beast,” Fenris shoved the creature that joined them and ruined a perfectly good memory. 

The mabari barked playfully and Fenris splashed him with water from the river. 

“Wash up, you smell like refuse,” Fenris growled at him. He listened and began rolling around in the water.

“He was playing in the Halla stables earlier,” she told him with the beginnings of a smile. 

“This isn’t a leisure trip, mongrel,” he added under his breath.

“On your wrist...was that a token from the Champion?” Lavellan asked, not looking at him, and after a moment of silence she continued. “Ir abelas, you needn’t answer.”

“It was a part of his bedding,” he told her. “I have carried it for...nearly five years.”

It hadn’t really been put into scope like that for him before. Had it really been that long? He looked down at it. The red was a little faded now from the sun and time. And the crest at his side had taken a few hits as well. A scorch mark on the corner and notches in the wood from swords that nearly hit their mark. 

“Reminds me that no matter how far I am from him at any given time, I have a piece of him close by,” he sighed. “Though a poor substitute for the real thing.”

“Agreed,” she said, staring into the crevasse of magic in her palm. “But a substitute is better than nothing in the end.”

Solas. She was talking about the mage the others mentioned.

He left her with nothing, he surmised. Other than a room full of memories and paintings she could not carry with her. He could not imagine the pain that caused. To have nothing? He may as well have carved out her heart and taken it with him. Perhaps that was how she felt.

Fenris pitied her. 

“What was he like?” he asked curiously. Perhaps she would feel better if she spoke of him.

“That’s a little personal,” she responded with a sigh. “How did he seem when you met him? Distant? Focused?”

“Those sound like words to describe you,” Fenris told her. “What do you mean? ‘When I met him’?”

“The letter you brought me. The one that needed translating,” she reminded him. “I could recognize that handwriting anywhere...Solas.”

He hadn’t realized. No wonder she had the look of someone who’s breath had been stolen. Like she could cry right into that paper. But she steeled herself, folded it politely, and returned it to him. That action alone must have hurt. Fenris rummaged through his pack to find the note. It had permanent creases and little tears at the edges but otherwise undamaged. He handed it to her and she took it gratefully to read again.

“To think he took the time to write you this,” she smiled sadly. “He must have been very moved by your plight.”

“I think now that he meant it for you,” Fenris furrowed his brow in thought. “The elvish part, at least.”

“He’s the curious sort,” she tried to chuckle. “Solas would have loved to pick your brain about life in Tevinter and your markings. They are certainly magical. I am not a mage but I can feel a edge to it. A kind of ember glow.”

“He did not ask,” Fenris shook his head. “And I am not the talkative sort. I did not trust him. As I do not trust many mages.”

“I probably should not have trusted him either,” she sighed. “And now he is gone. How did he look? Do you remember?”

Fenris tried to recall exact details of the encounter but it was difficult. He remembered the physical details well enough. Pale. Bundled up for warmth. But no shoes. A disdainful look as he swallowed his tea. A catch in his throat when mentioning the Inquisition and it’s losses.

“He appeared...woeful. As though he’d lost something. Regret in his eyes. Clutched at a necklace near his heart. A bone with teeth,” Fenris explained. “The way he spoke, I thought someone he loved had died.”

“Oh Solas,” she shook her head, disappointed in him. “Ven qhenathra?”

“He did not seem to enjoy his tea. Though he drank enough of it,” Fenris remembered. 

“He is not sleeping well,” she sighed. But it was a sign he was still feeling the parting, which was something more than she expected to learn.

“Apologies, it does not seem as though my information helped,” Fenris said, looking at her dejected face. 

“You have no reason to apologize, Fenris. He put distance between us long before he left; it is nothing new,” she let out a deep breath and stood. “It is late, and we should turn in if we want an early start.”

She folded up the note in her hand and extended it back to him, as she felt it was still his. He waved his hand and shook his head.

“Keep it. I have no further use of it,” Fenris told her and leaned forward. 

“Ma serannas,” she said with a weak smile and tucked it in her leather doublet. “Good night, Fenris.”

He stayed awake a moment longer to stare at the stars. Leaning back on the grass gave him a better view. It reminded him of the time when Hawke was teaching him how to read. When they took a break they sat on the roof of the mansion. Hawke would point out constellations and then not so discretely move closer. The flirt. Fenris didn’t mind though. He’d never been the target of true affection before. Never had someone’s undivided attention and welcomed it. 

Dog returned next to him sopping wet from the river with an oblivious smile as he panted. So much of its owner reflected in its personality. Goofy. Fun loving dolt. Jumping into fights but with the wisdom from previous combat to assist him. Dog nudged his hand and licked it with a whine. And a kindness that knew no bounds.

The animal’s stomach growled. 

“And a hunger that knows no bounds,” Fenris smirked. “Come, I will get you some food, dry off, and then to rest.”

*****

Fenris slept well and had no dreams. It must have been an incense they were burning because no matter how he tried he could not dream of Hawke. He wanted to curse the Dalish but came to the conclusion that he needed such a sleep if he wanted to travel alert and refreshed. He stomached the shaking hands and insufferable amount of elvish that took place just before leaving. But they gave the party supplies and water for the continuance of their trip so it wasn’t all terrible.

One elvish girl was quite taken with him and gave him small carving of one of their Dalish gods. He wasn’t sure which and didn’t care to ask. He simply took it with a stone face and pocketed the trinket. Perhaps Merrill would like it and he could give it to her as thanks for helping earlier. He managed to mumble a thank you before turning to leave.

Most everyone saddled themselves on their horses, Inquisitor included. They would be setting a faster pace so everyone needed to ride. Fenris reluctantly climbed onto one of the horses and took the reins. He spared a glance to Lavellan who put a hand on her chest, whispered something, and then looked ahead with determined focus.  
  
It was time to go and the party headed off again together. 


	8. Chapter 8

Fenris couldn’t believe that three weeks had passed. Three weeks. He had to applaud how quickly they reached the edge of the Western Approach. It probably had something to do with how insufferable he was being. If they stopped early to make camp he huffed loudly. When it was time to depart he was already waiting, pacing by the horses. 

Constantly asking if the delay was necessary.

Glaring at those who complained that they were tired. 

He could be incredibly annoying. And terrifying. All in one. 

So when the Inquisitor said they were getting close to the Western Approach he almost grinned. Finally, they were so close. She warned everyone that water would not be easy to come by and to gather as much as they could from their current stop. She eyed Fenris specifically when she told the group that they would not leave this river until every canteen and waterskin was full to the brim with water. 

If it got them moving sooner he’d fill all the containers himself. He merely hoped that they would not be stopping for the night when they were already so close. All the horses were tied off near the river; as they would not be making the journey across the sands. A squad of men and women would be staying and watching over the animals while the rest continued on foot. How long was this going to take?

“Smolder any harder, Broody, and you’ll have smoke coming out of your ears. We’ll get moving when everyone is ready,” Varric nudged Fenris in the thigh. 

“I am not smoldering,” Fenris growled, inching away from the offending elbow.

The Inquisitor could be seen at the river, giving orders to specific soldiers. They were the ones from the tavern before. The fighter Krem. The Qunari led them but Fenris was having trouble remembering the name. 

“He is the Iron Bull,” piped up the strange boy Cole, startling Fenris. He was far too quiet, like the Inquisitor. “You were trying to find his name but there are so many new ones inside, you couldn’t.”

Fenris huffed and leant on a rock. The Chargers would be staying behind to watch the horses and await their return. They even had a mage with them, who adamantly kept insisting she was not, that would signal if they needed help. 

But they shouldn’t need it. Most of the venatori were dead, slain by the Inquisition’s forces. Red Templars were done with as well. The only real trouble that they might run into were a few varghests. But the Inquisitor was certain they could easily dispatch them, though some of the party were not so sure. Some had never even seen one before. Fenris hadn’t and in all honesty didn’t wish to. 

“Scales like wide feathers. Shifting spines forming plates of protection. A mouth that protrudes, giving off the rancid remains of it’s last meal. He went screaming, as the creature dragged him deep into the pit…” Cole spoke about someone’s last remembrance of the creature. “It’s children were happy to feast on fresh meat for a change.”

“Charming,” Fenris grimaced. 

“The little ones are actually cute,” Varric commented. “When they aren’t covered in viscera.”

“Could I take one home?” Cole asked curiously.

“Just stick to nug wrangling, kid,” Varric pat his shoulder. 

“I have been catching rabbits for Cassandra,” Cole shifted back and forth. “She thinks their noses are cute. And loves their fluffy chests. I put some in her room before we left. There should be...thirty five when we return.”

“I want to be there when that happens,” Varric chuckled deviously. “Did you leave them food?”

“Yes, a barrel of scraps from the kitchens. They threw them away. The Iron Bull helped me carry it,” Cole adjusted his hat. “Do you think it will help? Will it make Cassandra happier?”

“If not, I can think of at least one person who will enjoy the sight,” Varric chuckled again, thinking about not only the stampede of rabbits that will inhabit her room but also the smell of rotting garbage. And that look of anger conflicted with adoration.

“How much longer?” Fenris griped, his arms crossed. 

Cole looked up and stared across the way at the Inquisitor with the Chargers. It was like he was analyzing them or eavesdropping from a couple dozen yards away. Varric noticed this as well and both stared at the boy, waiting for a response. Cole began to fidget with his fingers.

“She is different today,” Cole tilted his head, thinking. 

“That so?” Varric asked, eying the Inquisitor. 

She didn’t look different to Fenris. Her face was just as stern as he’d become accustomed to. But maybe she was taking lighter steps. Her feet didn’t hit the ground with as much weight, as much force. And wait a moment, was that a smile? For a split second while talking to the Iron Bull? It must have been a glare from the sun, as there was no indication on her face of a smile. And those she was conversing with didn’t react either. 

“A light feeling. In her chest. It floats in the wind. Words within words inscribed on her heart. Endure. I will endure,” Cole whispered. “It doesn’t hurt like it used to. The cracking has stopped. Something is growing in the crevasses.”

Hope, Fenris thought. This was good news and not simply because he needed her in top shape. 

“Good job, kid,” Varric patted him and the boy smiled. “But don’t go mentioning it to anyone else. Lavellan likes her thoughts to stay private.”

“I know,” Cole sighed and fixed his hat. “She is ready to move.”

And it was true. The chargers would stay while the rest of the troops travelled on foot. Soldiers and mages side by side. It was a sight that Fenris did not think he would ever see. Some of these men and women were once templars. Others were apostates. Traitors to the chantry. And now they were all comrades. Fenris found it strange but not unpleasant as there seemed to be no tension between the once opposing forces. Anders would be proud, he supposed.

It meant travel would be more agreeable. At least on the conversation front.

The weather was another issue entirely.

The insufferable heat beat down on them during the day and in the night they froze to their cores. There were two hours in the day that weren’t unbearably miserable. In the early morning with the sun was just coming up and late when the sun was beginning to set. Every other moment of the day was just awful. 

Sweat poured from everyone as they marched their way across the sands. It was so bad that Fenris finally caved and took the cowl the Seeker Cassandra offered him to keep the heat off his neck. But he was a little late to avoid a slight sunburn. It was nothing considering the injuries Hawke was surviving with, he reminded himself. 

And the night wasn’t any better. They learned quickly to grab any debris on their journey so as to have something, anything, to burn at night for warmth. After the wood ran out they started shoving as many people as possible into a tent to conserve heat. Fenris disliked the idea but would rather be uncomfortable than freezing. So he shared a tent with Varric, the spirit boy Cole, and a man he hardly knew that the others called Blackwall. He hadn’t spoken much and even less to Fenris. 

They said he was a Grey Warden and Fenris took an immediate disliking to him. Was he one of the Wardens Hawke sacrificed himself to save? Did he feel any regret or sense of responsibility for what happened to the Champion? Was that why he joined them? Fenris didn’t know and kept his distance from him whenever possible.

Everyone took turns keeping watch for wildlife that might prey on them. The alarm was raised once by a newer recruit. Unfortunately it was just a gurn herd, minding it’s own business on the outskirts. Fenris had seen one once in a book that Hawke showed him. The pages did not do justice to their size, admittedly. Lucky for them, the herd saw their camp and turned the other way to avoid them.

Two more days, Lavellan told him. They could be there in two more days if there weren’t any delays. This thrilled him to no end as for the last few days he could not find Hawke in his dreams. It frightened him. His gut turned at the thought that all their work would be in vain. That they might arrive too late. 

Fenris stood watch with a blanket draped around him. Dog shimmied his way into the folds of fabric adding his warmth to Fenris’s but he couldn’t stop shivering. He wasn’t cold. He was scared. Another night without Hawke in his dreams. Another night without Hawke in his arms. The rest of his life without Hawke... He could feel himself panicking inside, wanting nothing more than to scream with rage and thrash about breaking anything nearby. 

But there was nothing but sand. And the occasional rock or desert brush. No way to vent his frustration.

“Are you alright, Fenris?” asked the bearded man keeping watch with him. The one they called Blackwall. He couldn’t avoid him forever and Lavellan posted them together on watch. “You do not look well…” he added.

Something snapped and Fenris couldn’t maintain his cool exterior, his calm facade. 

“I cannot imagine why,” Fenris spat in his direction. “My partner is caught in the Fade. For months now. Dying a slow and painful death unless the Inquisitor can pull him from it. And as a non-mage I can do nothing but watch as he struggles and bleeds. Then I discover the decision to leave him was to garner the support of Grey Wardens that, according to many, are nothing but abominations! So...no. I am not well.”

The man looked guiltily to the ground with a sigh. 

“I was afraid that might be on your mind,” the older man said. “Anything else you’d like to get off your chest?”

“I have...anger beyond belief. But I can do nothing as this is not a foe I can simply destroy. If cutting down every person in the Inquisition would bring him to me I would do it and never regret the blood I waded through to get him back,” Fenris growled, his voice catching. “I have not felt so helpless, since I was a slave.”

“I...am truly sorry,” Blackwall lowered his head. 

“Keep your apologies, Warden; you’ve done enough damage,” Fenris grumbled. 

Blackwall raised his eyes to look at the horizon. Too dark to see much but the stars were starting to glint against the sky. 

“The Wardens...have made a lot of mistakes. And I as well,” he sighed. “I can never undo all the bad I have done in this world. But it was always my hope that by joining I could try to balance out the bad with good.”

Fenris wasn’t sure he cared to hear this conversation, as he was still too bitter to care. And it would be easier to dislike the man if he didn’t get to know him. But he couldn’t leave his post.

“The Inquisitor made sure we knew, in no uncertain terms, that we were responsible for the Champion’s fate. That we were responsible for the calamity at Haven. That it would be a burden we shouldered for the rest of our lives and well into the future; nothing you’ve said is news to me,” Blackwall closed his eyes and blinked them slowly open. “But with that said, instead of condemning us, instead of throwing us out as nothing but traitors and villains, she gave us the opportunity to make up for our misdeeds by serving the Inquisition.”

“That still does not explain your presence  _ here _ ,” Fenris stared at him, loathing in his eyes. “Not a mage, not a scholar, and no ties to the Champion. Why come on a journey that reminds you constantly of the  _ devastation  _ you have wrought?!”

He flinched at the spite in Fenris’s voice but answered nonetheless. 

“I made a promise to serve the Inquisition,” Blackwall looked over his shoulder at the tents. Lavellan’s tent. “And once I dedicate myself to a cause...I do not falter.”

There was something unsaid about his statement. Something underlying. A sad longing in his eyes as he looked back. Disappointment, in something. Fenris wasn’t sure he cared and tried to dismiss it.

“The Inquisitor needs troops to protect the mages,” Blackwall cleared his throat and sat up straight. “I will help however I am able.”

The Warden was preparing to say something else but he paused and pointed towards the perimeter. It was enough to distract Fenris from his anger for the time being. He looked over and squinted his eyes. It wasn’t an animal. Too small. A person. But they were leaving the encampment. One of the soldiers? A mage?

Who was leaving? Why would they -wait, a spark?

A flash of green that dipped over the sandy hill. Fenris stood and drew his sword but Blackwall shook his head. 

“What is it?” Fenris asked, in no mood for secrets.

“The Inquisitor,” he said. “Fret not, she does this often. She needs distance from the noise of the camp. To commune with her thoughts.”

Fenris remembered his first night in Skyhold when she visited the Rotunda. Only when everyone else was asleep or gone did she slip into that room. Even then she whispered so as not to be heard. A solitary creature.That had lost her soul mate. 

“Should she be alone though? Out here?” Fenris asked, but took his seat. 

“She’ll signal us if help is needed,” Blackwall nodded. “Stalking her is a sure way to get killed. She tends to strike out at things behind her.”

Fenris nodded and settled back into his seat with the blanket. Blackwall pulled a hunk of wood out of his pack and started whittling away on it. Smooth swift strokes peeled away the excess wood to start giving it a shape. Fenris lost interest in the old man’s hobby and looked up to focus on the stars instead to calm his bubbling rage.

Satinalis. He remembered the constellation from a book of Hawke’s, one of the very few he had of Tevinter origins. And he could see Toth as well. In the book it was depicted as a man on fire, attacked by a dragon. Hawke loved making up stories as to why they were named what they were, even after Fenris learned to read and found all the tall tales to be just that. His eyes fell on another constellation and they lidded in remembrance. 

*****

_ “Fenrir,” Hawke read from the book. “The white wolf.” He then looked at Fenris with a grin. _

_ “Don’t say it,” Fenris warned, wanting to flip to the next page.  _

_ “Say what?” Hawke raised a brow. Fenris continued to glower and look away. “What did you think I was going to say, Fenris?” _

_ The former slave looked guiltily away, ashamed of what he thought.  _

_ “Did you think I was going to call you ‘little wolf’?” Hawke asked, genuinely concerned and a little taken aback. “Fenris, you know I would never…” _

_ Fenris looked back to find Hawke smiling at him. _

_ “...never call you little!” He chuckled and embraced him for a wrestling match on the floor in front  of the fire.  _

_ They scrapped for a minute, rolling around on the floor laughing, and little light groping. Something he’d never been at home enough to do with anyone else. But with Hawke it had been so easy to let the walls down. After enough wrestling Fenris pinned down Hawke with a growl reminiscent of his name. Hawke was still chuckling. _

_ “I would never call you little wolf, like some pet to be tamed and kept on a leash,” Hawke told him with a smile.  _

_ “Good,” he replied. “I tire of collars.” _

_ “But the wolf...it will always be a part of who you are,” Hawke leaned up and kissed Fenris gently. He pulled away and smiled. “And I wouldn’t change that for anything. My wolf.” _

_ Fenris smiled, a real smile for once, in regards to his name. Hawke’s wolf. The wolf of the Champion. The very sound of it was perfect. It was right. And it had a nice ring to it he thought before smirking down on his prey.  _

_ “My Hawke,” he said, before lowering himself to Garrett's face for what would start as kissing and end with walking funny the next day.  _

*****

Fenris came back to the cold desert a moment later when the Inquisitor returned to the camp. She was not gone long, perhaps only half an hour, but she was just as quiet coming in as she was when leaving. Blackwall eyed the tent as the flap closed and simply sighed. 

“Time for the next watch, Fenris,” Blackwall informed him. “I’ll fetch Harding if you’ll wake Sera. Hmmm...make that Cole. Sera would never keep her eyes on the right horizon.”

Fenris nodded and then nudged Dog awake. He gave him a good scratch behind the ears and flicked his head in the direction of the camp. The beast understood and followed close to him after letting out a long yawn. Did spirits need sleep, he wondered absently before shaking the boy Cole from his slumber.

Cole blinked and wiped at his eyes. Fenris let him know that it was his turn to watch and the boy stood, stretched, then left without a word. Varric was sleeping soundly, his crossbow just barely in reach. Fenris tried to get comfortable by picking a corner to sleep in and holding Dog as close as possible for warmth, but he found it difficult to fall asleep.

What if he didn’t dream of Hawke again?

He was finally reaching the point where it was a very real possibility that Hawke might die. Might already be dead. Might have always been dead and his dreams were just misleading him. Prolonging his hope for the inevitable plunge into despair. It wasn’t as if the magic in this world hadn’t done terrible things to him in the past.

He could feel himself shivering again. Frightened, he squeezed Dog closer while shifting under the covers. 

“Sleep, Fenris,” mumbled Varric, after the elf shifted for the ninth time.

“Silence, dwarf,” Fenris tried to growl. 

Varric noticed the catch in his throat and sat up. He looked over at Fenris’s curled up body and let out a sigh. 

“Look; I know you’re worried about Hawke...but you’re gonna make yourself sick,” he said, scratching at the scruff on his face. “If you want to be in your best shape to help him, you need to  stop tormenting yourself about things you have no control over and rest.”

“Easy for you to say,” Fenris grumbled. He then rolled over and sat up to face Varric. “Dwarves don’t dream, don’t have nightmares. Did you lose a moment of sleep?”

Varric hit him right in the jaw with a closed fist, loud enough to wake Dog and elicit a confused whine from him. Fenris simply stared where the punch directed his face, shocked. He actually struck him. Varric shook his head with a glare that rarely visited his face. 

“You have some nerve,” Varric huffed. “You think you were the only one suffering at his loss? That you were the only one who could feel the pain of his absence? We all love Hawke. Not just you.”

Fenris looked up at Varric to find him clenching his jaw, trying to keep it from moving, holding back a quivering lip. He swallowed whatever harsh words were meant to come next and rubbed his knuckles gently. The dwarf let out a long deep sigh to calm himself before speaking again.

“When the Inquisitor came back...without him...I…” Varric grimaced and struck the ground, much harder than he hit Fenris. “If I’d gone with them...maybe I could have…”

Fenris lowered his eyes to the ground guiltily and massaged his jaw. He hadn’t really thought about it. Varric standing there, waiting for Hawke, only to find he didn’t make it. And knowing it was his letter that brought him there. Perhaps Fenris had been a little selfish and deserved the hit. 

“I lost the best friend I ever had. Loyal. Brave. He had better jokes than me and that’s hard to do,” Varric tried to laugh but it came out strangled and weak. “You don’t know how long I sat there, staring at the parchment and ink. How many times I had to start again because I couldn’t...just couldn’t pick up the quill. For once I had no words. I...”

He quieted and closed his eyes, trying not to cry, swallowing back his grief. Dog whined and approached Varric licking his hands. The dwarf managed a smile before rubbing the creature’s head. 

“When you came to Skyhold, convinced Hawke was still alive...I gotta tell you,” Varric smiled. “I actually felt...hopeful. I wanted to believe. And the closer we get, I feel like he really is waiting.”

They shared a glance before Fenris looked away, embarrassed by his unkind words earlier. 

“Your hope gave me hope so don’t despair, Broody,” Varric shoved his shoulder. “Sorry I hit you.”

“No you’re not,” Fenris grumped.

“You’re right, I’ve been waiting for years for that opportunity. Want another one?” Varric chuckled. 

Fenris shook his head with a smirk. He really did feel better after the talk with Varric. Knowing that he wasn’t the only one worried was a relief. The friendship between them had always been a bit odd. Lots of jabbing at each other with rude jokes or coarse comments. Nothing emotional like a moment ago; often those types of feelings were reserved for Hawke. 

Regardless, he adjusted where he was sleeping and moved closer to the dwarf. Dog shimmied in the little space between the both of them to partake of their heat. Fenris slept well that night. He dreamt of Hawke but not in the nightmarish realm he’d grown accustomed. 

*****

_ Old memories of their time in Kirkwall. Times when the whole of their party was together, especially at The Hanged Man. It was all laughter and joking and cards. Hawke buying drinks for everyone; the party, the regulars, the barkeep, the local thugs. And him tripping over every single one of them in the bar, whether they were moving or stationary.  _

_ He dreamt of a particular night in which Hawke finally succeeded in getting Fenris to drink shots of some horrid Avvar Liquor. And every time he lost at Wicked Grace he had to take another. And another. And more. Until finally Fenris decided it was time to clock out. Hawke had more than his fair share too and offered to walk him home, since they were both headed to hightown.  _

_ They walked, Hawke nearly carrying Fenris to the abandoned estate. At first he thought it was his way of flirting. He was telling the same story from earlier only punctuated by more slurring and laughter. Fenris expected something inappropriate out of Hawke by the night's end. He was always telling jokes and shooting an interested glance at Fenris even when the elf was being surly.  _

_ But he never did anything. It was as if he was waiting for something. Fenris couldn’t figure out what.  _

_ When they arrived at the residence Fenris pushed the door with his shoulder. It didn’t budge. He shoved it again and nearly fell in the doorway when it refused to open.  _

_ “I’ll get it for you,” Hawke blinked and raised his hand. Something in the action prompted Fenris to grasp it quickly and lower it from the door. Hawke looked at his hand and then Fenris; he was confused but couldn’t form the question. _

_ “Apologies,” Fenris stammered. “Thought you were about to blast it open.” _

_ “Oh,” Hawke chuckled. “And I was going to say ‘if you wanted to hold hands, you should have just said so’. Ha haha!” _

_ That hearty laugh was contagious and Fenris found himself laughing too. It wasn’t nearly as boisterous as Hawke’s but it was loud enough to catch the mage’s attention. He stopped and stared at Fenris for a moment with a crooked smile on his face. Hawke leaned on the door, trying to be smooth, but it released suddenly leaving him hitting the floor with crash.  _

_ “Hawke!” Fenris knelt down, a bit concerned at first but a drunken chuckle rose up out of his chest. “You alright?” _

_ “I’m fine, never better,” Hawke laughed on the ground, his vision spinning.  _

_ Fenris offered his hand to help him to his feet. He took it but hesitated a moment before standing. In that moment he stared at Fenris, a million thoughts running through his alcohol addled head. He mumbled a thanks, his eyes never leaving Fenris’s, as he was pulled to his feet. There was a tick of time in which they both stared at each other, inches from each others faces, as if expecting the other to lean forward.  _

_ Hawke cleared his throat and straightened his back.  _

_ “Tonight was fun,” Hawke smiled. “Good to see you loosen up too. Hard to believe you challenged Aveline to an armwrestling match.” _

_ “I cannot believe she accepted,” Fenris admitted. “We both haven’t the head for liquor.” _

_ “But you won,” Hawke laughed. “It was impressive.” _

_ “She was farther gone than I,” Fenris pointed out. “And I took advantage of the wobbling table.” _

_ “Is that how you did it? I’ll have to remember that for next time,” Hawke smiled, a hand to his chin, pulling at the beard, as he schemed. “Donnic is going down…” _

_ Fenris chuckled at the image and Hawke beamed at him. _

_ “Fenris, I-” Hawke started but cut himself short.  _

_ Fenris could see where this was going. They had been growing closer but nothing beyond the camaraderie of battle or flirting glances. Fenris wasn’t even sure what he’d do if they initiated something. But Hawke was the eternal wisecracker; it was hard to know when he was being serious. It was better not to get his hopes up.  _

_ “Good night Hawke,” Fenris said and turned in the doorway.  _

_ “Wait!” Hawke reached out, and then pulled his hand back. He scratched at his head and looked at the sky. “I have been wanting to say something...for a while now. And now I am just drunk enough to say it.” _

_ “Hawke,” Fenris tried to interrupt. _

_ “I joke, constantly, with everyone. You joke too, sometimes. And I don’t want you to get the wrong impression,” he licked his lips, trying to think. “All those things I say...to you...about us. I want you to know…I do care. About you. That part isn’t a joke, Fenris.” _

_ “Hawke,” Fenris tried once again. _

_ “I want more...and I think you do too,” Hawke stepped closer and Fenris stood still, looking up to him.  _

_ “Be serious Hawke,” Fenris shook his head. “There are more important things we should focus on.” _

_ “I am serious, Fenris. And I would like to spend more time focusing on you,” Hawke took another step forward and Fenris could feel his breath catch.  _

_ Hawke raised a hand slowly to Fenris’s face, to cup his cheek, but stopped when Fenris flinched at it. He wasn’t certain why he did so. Ingrained behavior telling him a strike was incoming. Or he was simply used to seeing lightning coming out of that palm that it was a fearful reflex. Regardless, Hawke seemed hurt by his reaction and his hand shrank back. His eyes lowered to the ground, ashamed. _

_ “I’m sorry Fenris,” Hawke whispered. “I thought maybe...I guess I was wrong?” _

_ “No...you are not wrong,” Fenris swallowed, taking a small step back. “I am simply...reticent. Another time, perhaps. Another place.” _

_ “Is it because...my magic?” Hawke asked. _

_ The man looked down at his hands like they were cursed. The disappointment apparent in his eyes. Hawke likely wished some days that he wasn’t a mage himself. Fenris never considered that Hawke ever disliked his mage heritage but it was easy to see now. There were instances where magic came in handy but now it seemed more a burden than a benefit.  _

_ And to answer his question, yes, the magic had something to do with it but less and less each day they spent together. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be at the hands of another mage again. Then again, Hawke was nothing like he’d come to expect of a magic user. Kind. Careful. Funny. Admirable control over his power. But it was hard to let things go and he had more pressing matters to take care of before thinking of romance. _

_ His freedom. Danarius still needed to die. It was not safe to let his guard down. _

_ “While magic...is difficult to trust...it is not the reason,” Fenris tried to explain. “So do not stop trying.” _

_ Hawke simply nodded, a pained smile on his face. In the years to come Hawke continued to make allusions to his feelings and inappropriate jokes. He grew closer and closer to Fenris. The dream started to shift towards that one night together when everything changed...before someone started shaking the tents to wake them all up.  _

*****

“Rise and shine, let’s move!” spoke a soldier. “We’ve got an hour before the sun starts roasting us! Move, move, move!”

Fenris rose quickly, rolled his blankets and threw them onto his pack. He didn’t need to wake anyone else or prod them to get moving. Everyone was in a hurry, excited by the fact that they were only a little further away now. So close. So close they could all run on hope instead of food or water. 

“Sleep well, Broody?” Varric asked with a wink, shimmying his pack into place. “Think I saw a smile on your face earlier.” 

Fenris huffed in response, making Varric laugh.

“Lookit, he’s as bad as elfy Solas,” Sera jabbed and imitated the missing elf. “This is not the appropriate time or place, Child of the Stone. Blah, blah, blah, the veil is wibbly wongly here. I’m all sad and stuff about ancient history. Pfft!”

“Sera,” Cassandra tried to sound stern by muffling a snort. 

“You have to admit Seeker, that was a pretty solid impression,” Varric held his stomach laughing. 

“While that may be the case, it certainly isn’t appropriate with the Inquisitor within earsh-” Cassandra stopped and snorted a little at Sera’s sneering Solas face. She managed to cough to cover up her lapse in poise and encouraged them to keep moving, as time was of the essence. She needn’t tell Fenris twice.   
  
It was time to move. 


	9. Chapter 9

There it was, the Fortress Adamant.

Massive greystone walls made for resisting attack. High ramparts perfect for raining a hail of arrows down upon the assaulting force. Many of the walls had craters upon craters. Broken barriers with stones the size of druffalo crushed atop them.

While Varric explained that the battle was a while ago the evidence of the damage had yet to be completely repaired. There were scorch marks from mage fireballs and old stains of blood were enemies and allies dropped.  Repairs were making way though. People were carrying supplies back and forth, hammering away at new supports. They were trying to restore it to it’s former glorly for Warden occupancy. Fenris didn’t see many Wardens there, probably out replenishing their numbers across Thedas.

“Good,” he huffed. He didn’t think he could handle anymore of them in his presence.

“Inquisitor! We didn’t expect you for another week,” said a mustached dwarf. He wiped the sweat from his brow leaving at dirty smear across his face.

“We’ve had some encouragement to keep our speed up,” Lavellan cracked her fingers and looked over her shoulder at Fenris.

He was unaffected by the comment and huffed. His eyes travelled all about the fort. Where would they set up? Could they start tonight? He tapped his feet impatiently waiting for Lavellan to finish talking with the foreman. The dwarf nodded and headed off. She gave her orders to Blackwall and then approached Fenris.

“Sun’s going to set soon. We’ll have the ritual ground cleared by midday tomorrow. After I check in with the mages we’ll find the best time of day when the veil is weakest,” she informed him. “Until then, rest up.”

“There is still light,” Fenris argued. “Where is the ritual ground?”

“Dagna,” Lavellan turned. “Can you show Fenris where-”

“Of course Inquisitor!” Dagna piped with a smile. “This way! This way! It’s fascinating really!”

The enthusiastic dwarf pulled on his cape with gusto so he didn’t delay. A peculiar dwarf. She seemed like such a child but chattered about the history and the veil with terminology he’d just learned about in the weeks before. To be honest he lost the topic somewhere in between the stairs and the second hallway. He just nodded when she looked expectantly at him.

Eventually she tugged him through a final set of doors that opened into a courtyard. It was decimated. Debris of all sorts littered the area. Trebuchet boulders and shattered statues. There may have been a fountain in the center at one time but nothing of it remained.

“I was able to study this area for nearly a week after the battle here! It was amazing!” Dagna smiled, gesturing with her hands. “I mean the area not the battle, obviously. That was terrible. I stayed late every night and fell asleep on the boulders.”

“Find anything of interest?” he asked and wished he hadn’t.

“Did I ever!” she smiled wide and the conversation recommenced. Nothing he understood so he smiled uncomfortably until she slowed down. “I wondered if there might be permanent damage to the veil here and used some scientific devices to find out. I borrowed the schematics from Solas to make a machine that determines the strength of the veil. Would you like to see? I left it in my pack. I’ll be right back!”

Without waiting for an answer the girl scurried off leaving him there.

Fenris shook his head with a chuckle and then looked about. Midday. Tomorrow? It would be that long? Not if he did some work tonight. He put his things down against a wall and removed his gauntlets. The pauldrons would have to go too, along with the chestplate. Dagna nearly dropped all her things upon returning to find him barechested.

“Oh oh...my!” she flushed and stared. “I uh, this is the device, if you were interested!”

She pulled it out and demonstrated how to use it. She explained that it used mana to operate, so she often had a mage assist her. Solas frequently did this for her when she asked. And with the plethora of mages in their company she’d have no trouble finding someone to activate it for her.

“I was thinking, I’d like to run an experiment if you wouldn’t mind,” she said. “Would you touch this? I’ve heard from the others and Master Tethras’s stories that you have some magical aptitude but you’re not a mage.”

“Yes,” he confirmed and then asked, “simply touch it?”

“Well, and whatever it is you do to activate your abilities? Oh wait, I want to take notes,” she rummaged and set up an ink well. Once she had a quill at the ready she winked at him.

“Not certain it will work,” Fenris shrugged and knelt to the device.

He placed a palm on it and concentrated for a moment. Often he called on it this primal feeling in his gut to bring forth his phasing ability. This time all he had to think about was how it would help Hawke somehow and it activated. His tattoos lit up and for a second blinded Dagna.

“Amazing!” she squealed and began writing. “Lyrium in the designs at key points of the veins, arteries, muscles, and bones activated by will, not unlike that of magic born people. Gives off energy as well as a brilliant light source. Unlike the use of a lyrium potion the lyrium in the ink remains after activation, suggesting a purer caliber of lyrium. Possibly mined deeper to the core. Fascinating!”

“The device?” Fenris rasped. This activation was usually reserved for battle, so sitting still while doing so made him edgy. Movement made the prickling in his flesh less noticeable so he flexed his fingers.

“Ah yes!” Dagna remembered and looked down at the machine. “It’s active! Would you look at that! Let me write this down, for posterity. Oh, you can stop at anytime it’ll continue to function for a good hour or so.”

He sighed and relaxed the burning energy in his flesh. After standing and stretching he turned to the mess in front of him. The smaller stones might not be so difficult so he’d move them from the grounds while Dagna giggled and wrote.

Physical labor always calmed him. It was simple without the complexity and headache that reading usually brought him. Stoop, pick up a stone, raise, carry stone, drop it off the ramparts. Repeat. Dagna chatted away to him or herself; he could hardly tell which. He only caught half of the words and their meanings whenever she was directly looking at him.

“The veil was weakened considerably because of the battle but not enough to be opened again,” Dagna told him. “I should know because I woke up to find the Inquisitor trying a few times after the deluge.”

“Truly?” he asked, dumping another rock over the edge.

“Yes. She said ‘if anyone could survive the Fade for a few days it would be a powerful mage like the Champion’. She hoped that if she could open it again then maybe a rescue effort could be launched. But she had to give up after the week,” Dagna recounted. “Others needed her help so she had to abandon the attempts. It hit her hard, I saw her crying over the ramparts with Solas.”

At least she was human or er...alive. Fenris was beginning to think she was all ice and steel. Though, that was hardly fair. She seemed to open up to him earlier in the Plains.

Dagna looked down at her parchment with a sad look. Everyone close to Lavellan cared deeply about her. She couldn’t be all bad if so many people felt her pain.

“I think it’ll work this time though,” she piped up. “So many were injured before. And we didn’t have nearly enough mages or lyrium.”

“It will be dangerous once opened,” he warned her. She did not look the type to be able to defend herself. She was a scholar, not a warrior.

“Are you worried about me Ser Fenris?” she giggled.

Fenris merely huffed and rolled his eyes. To this Dagna giggled more. He shook his head at her and hefted another boulder and tossed it over the side. She watched as he popped his shoulder and continued his work. Dog arrived not long after and sat beside Dagna panting in the heat.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be observing from a discrete distance,” she told him and scratched the animal’s ears.

Not unlike what she was doing now, he guessed. He peeked up a few times from her parchment, sufficiently distracted by his muscles. It hardly bothered him though. She would not be the first person on this long trip that looked at him like that. Like it was a hot day and he was a cold refreshing glass of water.

Hawke looked at him like that on many an occasion. The first few times it happened Fenris was wary. A hungry look in a mage's eye usually brought him unease. He’d been trained not to trust it. Only after getting to know Hawke, through his actions and words, did Fenris realize it was because of more than just the elf’s physique.

Hawke admired him in his entirety.

That drunken declaration was only the first in a long series of announcements made at the front door of Fenris’s stolen mansion. How the comments spilling forth from Hawke’s lips managed to make the elf blush like a cloister sister in a brothel. He was always so forward, no minced words, leaving Fenris speechless; when they kissed breathless.

What would he do first upon finding him again...it would be somewhere between laughing, crying, kissing, and scolding. He wasn’t sure how he’d manage to do all those things but he would try. But that would have to wait until tomorrow. Until then he would do the only thing he could. Another boulder tipped over the balcony.

I wasn’t long after the sun set that Dagna’s machine teetered out. She let out a disappointed whine and looked sadly at him with shiny eyes. Dog mirrored those eyes and he relented under the power of their combined gaze. He activated the machine once more but that was it. No more.

Dorian came through the doorway bearing gifts of sustenance. Bowls of food, some kind of thick porridge. It was far tastier than it looked with the help of some spices. Dagna dipped a hunk of biscuit into it afterwards to soak up the remaining liquid. Fenris did the same. For the first time in a while he was ravenous.

“There’s more if you like,” Dorian reminded him and thumbed the direction of the main fire. “It looks dreadful and tasted like it too until Cole threw something in it. Not certain what it was but it improved the flavor.”

“Tastes like...Nug fat,” Dagna smacked her lips and put the bowl down.

“Does it? Now I have an entirely new reason to never eat anything Cole cooks,” Dorian sighed, fingering his temple.

“Embrium as well,” Fenris commented, making them both stare at him. “Hawke's mother put it in soup when he was sick. Made some for me once...” Fenris smiled as the memory overtook him.

*****

_What a miserable sight he’d been. Fenris had never had a cold in his life. Never. He still maintains to this day that it was something Hawke brought back from the Deep Roads. Or something Anders spread to them from his many sick patients. Whoever the culprit Fenris wished they would go bury themselves in a spider infested cave._

_Fenris refused to open the door when the knock echoed throughout the house. He refused to even acknowledge Hawke’s presence when he inquired for him at the doorway. Hawke had to pull the blanket from his curled up body on the sofa. It was then, and only then, that Fenris made an attempt at growling, telling the mage to leave him be._

_He was unkempt, his hair a mess, clammy from constant sweating but too cold not to cover himself in as many blankets as possible. Hell, he even had a dozen logs in the fire to keep him warm but all it did was make him need a bath. His nose ran, his throat was sore, and to top it all off he was hungry but too tired to move._

_He honestly expected a joke. Some kind of snicker or laugh at how ridiculous Fenris looked, because he did look ridiculous. Nothing like the fierce warrior he was in combat. He was embarrassed to be seen like this._

_Go ahead, he thought. Get the laugh out now. That way he could punch him and not feel bad about it._

_But he didn’t. He went to a knee and touched Fenris’s forehead, concern grazing his brow._

_“Fenris, you have a fever,” he said and then shook his head._

_“I am acutely aware,” Fenris rasped, immediately regretting speaking._

_“I’ll get Anders, he can probably-”_

_“No,” Fenris tried to yell but it barely went over a whisper._

_“This isn’t the time to distrust magic, this is something he could help with,” Hawke explained._

_“It is not his magic I do not trust,” Fenris sat up with some difficulty. “I simply need rest. Leave.”_

_Fenris tried to mask the disappointment on his face when Hawke listened to him. For a moment the entire estate was dead quiet. Then a loud crash in the kitchen. The mage called from the other room stating everything was fine. Nothing broken he swore._

_It brought a smile to his face._

_Soon a smell from the kitchen wafted over to his place on the couch. Soup. Luckily he’d stocked up on food recently. It wasn’t long until Hawke stepped through the door with a tea tray sporting soup bowls and toasted bread. It was then he learned about the Embrium in the food. Good for clearing airways and excess mucus._

_“And it tastes great,” Hawke added as he drank his own bowl._

_*****_

Fenris wished he’d gotten the recipe. It would be the first thing he’d make for Hawke, something comforting to remind him of home. In all likelihood though the first thing the mage might need is a doctor. Luckily, some of the mages that accompanied them were proficient in creation magic.

“It’s getting late,” Dagna sighed and yawned. “I think I’ll turn in. Need to be bright eyed and ready for tomorrow.”

“You should rest as well Fenris,” Dorian added.

He simply nodded in agreement and followed the two of them back to camp. He’d have gotten lost otherwise. Varric and Cole sat next to the fire as the dwarf told another outlandish story. Vivienne sat under a nearby canopy, using candles to read a book covered in runes. Dorian and an elven scout were conversing about precautionary measures. Or perhaps they were flirting, it was hard to tell.

He wasn’t sure where to go or which tent to drop into.

“Your tent is over there,” said a voice over his shoulder, making him nearly strike out behind him.

“Inquisitor,” he said, clipped and annoyed.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting that people dislike that,” she chuckled, giving him a sympathetic glance. “Solas always said it was dangerous but it is what I was used to. Taking advantage of my silence and the enemy’s blind spot. The Iron Bull almost hit me once.”

She pointed to the tent again and explained that he shouldn’t have to share it with anyone tonight. Many people would not be going to sleep immediately to keep watch. Many of the soldiers would sleep in shifts while the mages got much needed rest. At first light they would begin clearing the courtyard.

Fenris nodded and took pleasure in knowing that it would be that much faster after all the work he’d done. Tomorrow, he thought. Just one more day.

Sleep did not come easy. He tossed and turned, kicking at the blankets and then gathering them up again when he began to shiver. All of the ‘what ifs’ of the day came rushing back at the notion that tomorrow would be the day.

What if it didn’t work and they travelled out there for nothing? What if it did work and it was too late? Or to vast? What if they couldn’t find him? What if they did and he died before they could reach him? He bolted upright, panic rising in his chest, panting to get the air stolen from him by fear.

He didn’t want to fall asleep and find Hawke bleeding to death on the hellish landscape that was the Fade. But if he didn’t sleep he wouldn’t have the strength necessary to help.

“Dog,” he coughed. “The pack.”

He rummaged through it and once he found what he was looking for he exited the tent. The fire was luckily still going with a couple of different cooking utensils nearby. He grabbed a cast iron pot far too large for his needs and filled it with water from the well. After placing it into the fire he sat down and sighed, tapping his foot.

“Can’t sleep?” asked Lavellan, poking a stick into the fire. He hadn’t even noticed her or Cole sitting there.

“Jumbled. Jarring thoughts that rattle and shake deep down. Choking on fear like stones caught in my throat. The air is gone but I must breathe,” Cole picked at a tear in his shirt.

“Accurate enough,” Fenris nodded. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping, Inquisitor?”

“Just talking with Cole a little,” she smiled and pat his head. “Sometimes he makes more sense than anyone else around here.”

Cole let out a pleased smile, like a child being praised for something. The spirit boy picked up a stone from the ground and smoothed it over his fingertips before showing it to her. She put it in her pocket with a chuckle.

“Did I help earlier?” Cole asked her while removing his hat, adjusting it, and then putting it back on. “I did not mean to upset you.”

“It’s fine Cole,” she shook her head. “I’m not upset, not with you. I know you mean well. Everyone does.”

“Worry roots itself to the base of a tree. Clinging. Climbing. Strangling the trunk,” he says. “But she grows. Stronger with each pruning. Just like the tree before it.”

“Thanks Cole,” she patted. “Maybe we should talk about it another time?”

Cole nodded in understanding and in a show of kindness he squeezed her hand gently before leaving the fire. To go where Fenris couldn’t guess as he was not approaching the tents. Eventually he melted away into the darkness.

“Your water is boiling,” Lavellan pointed. “Could I have a cup? I need to make some tea before bed.”

He poured her some water and poured himself some. Part of him expected she was drinking the same tea as he was but the smell of peppermint wafted over to his seat.

“Did you get that from Solas?” she asked. “I recognize the smell. He drank it often when he wasn’t feeling well. Mages tend to have restless sleep.”

“Not you though?” Fenris asked taking a sip.

“No, sleeping is easy for me. I can compartmentalize fairly well. This is for-” she stopped, uncertain but she continued, “-a little nausea is all. Nothing to concern yourself over and certainly not something that needs to be brought up in conversation with the others.”

“Nausea,” he furrowed his brow. Then he unfurrowed in sudden understanding. Oh that kind of nausea.

“Yes, and I’d appreciate it if you kept quiet about it,” she sighed. “Its enough that Cole is talking about it in vague terms. Eventually someone will catch on. I’ve told him to tone it down but that isn’t always useful. He can’t control is natural empathy.”

The great Inquisitor of Thedas was with child. What news that would be. He understood her desire to keep it under wraps. The last thing she needed was enemies finding out about it and taking advantage. Fenris shrugged. As long as it didn’t interfere with tomorrow, he couldn’t care less.

“Understood,” he said and stood. “Good night Inquisitor.”  
  
She bid him good night as well before draining her cup and pouring another. Lavellan hummed a little tune that dissipated the further away he walked until it was gone. A familiar lullaby that he continued humming to himself quietly once inside his tent. Slowly Fenris’s eyes batted until they drifted closed, eventually falling asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: SMUT CHAPTER

“Time to get up,” a voice rang out overhead. 

“Hawke,” Fenris grumbled. “Too early.”

“Hawke?” the voice laughed. “With any luck we’ll be seeing him today.”

His eyes shot open when he came to his senses. The desert. The Fade. Today. 

“How long have I slept? Is it midday?” Fenris bolted up and began putting on his armor and gauntlets. 

“Sun’s been up an hour at the most,” Varric chuckled. “Can’t wait to tell Hawke that you thought I was him. He’ll be so insulted.”

They’d already begun removing the remaining debris from the ritual ground without him. That tea worked entirely too well; he slept through a dozen men and women leaving the campsite to work. He latched on his sword to its holster and shoved his way out of the tent. Varric watched him look around confused for a moment, uncertain which direction to go. He hadn’t paid much attention to the trip there and back again.

To be honest his head wasn’t exactly in the right space. His nervousness confused his sense of direction and he paced side to side, trying to recognize his surroundings with a scowl on his face getting gruffer with each passing second. Varric let him flounder for a moment before speaking.

“Come on Broody,” Varric gestured. “This way.”

When they arrived the grounds looked nothing like before. Nearly half the rocks were gone, broken down with hammers and shovelled off the edge. Lavellan stood in the center pointing to different areas and speaking to half a dozen mages. They nodded and said things back to her and passed around some scrolls. 

“Tell the younger mages where they will set up. Each and every one of them gets two lyrium potions, one for before the rift and one for after,” she explained. “I don’t want to carry comatose mages back across the desert if I can help it.”

They laughed, thinking she was telling a joke. She wasn’t, or if she was her poker face was immaculate. They agreed and set off to inform the others. Lavellan sighed and massaged her shoulder before cracking her neck loudly. She reached into her pocket, pulled something out and promptly popped it into her mouth. Some kind of candy. 

“Smells like ginger root,” Varric mentioned as they approached. “Where’d you get candy all the way out here?”

“Cole brought them with him. I thought I’d try them,” she said. “Taste pretty good. Sweet and sort of peppery. Been eating them the whole trip. I’m sure he’d give you one if you asked.”

“No thanks,” Varric chuckled. “If I ate one I’d have to eat eight. Then no one could eat them. My mother always said they were great for morning sickness.”

Lavellan nearly choked on the candy in her mouth and hit her chest hard to dislodge the sweet. 

“Careful Lavellan,” said Varric. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said, clearing her throat. “I need to talk with the workers. Excuse me.”

Fenris watched her walk away to address some of the soldiers. That was the easiest he’d ever seen her lose her composure. But she gathered it back up quick enough.

“Morning sickness?” Fenris questioned. 

“You know, when pregnancy makes women throw up,” Varric explained. “Eat a few of those in the morning and--”

Varric paused and looked at Lavellan with sudden realization. 

“--oh. Oh!” Varric snapped. “Well, then. Leliana and Josephine are going to lose their marbles when we get back.”

“I think the Inquisitor would prefer you kept your mouth shut,” Fenris informed him.

“Hmm, you’re probably right. I can keep a secret,” Varric nodded. 

“I know,” Fenris glowered and Varric shrunk back with an uneasy smile. 

Within three hours the space was cleared. Things were getting serious now. The energy amongst the mages and the soldiers was different than before. Faces lost their smiles and were replaced with focused stares. Mages slowly consuming their first bottle of lyrium to build up their reserves and got into position. Soldiers were standing by, ready to assist in anything needed. 

“I need all the focus to be on me and Fenris,” Lavellan indicated with gesture. He stood there making no effort to look friendly. “I will try to make the tear low to the ground, for ease of access but that means it will be easier for demons to come through if they so desire. That’s where you come in soldiers.”

She looked at all the men and women standing at attention nearby.

“I want two of you to each mage,” she explained. “They will be spent initially and need protection while they replenish themselves. If it gets too dicey pick them up and run down the halls. You are to follow the paths marked and bar the access routes until we return. Is this understood?”

They all nodded and said, “Yes Inquisitor!”

“Good,” she sighed. “We’ll begin in an hour, that is when the veil is weakest here. Correct, Dagna?”

“Yes Inquisitor!” Dagna said excitedly. Lavellan knelt down to say something to her privately in a quiet voice.

“Be sure to get to safe ground when we start Dagna. Our soldiers cannot afford to protect unarmed civilians,” Lavellan said calmly. “And I would hate to lose my best magical advisor.”

“Oh Inquisitor,” Dagna’s eyes welled up, then she puffed out her chest with a smile. “I’ll be safe. I promise.”

Fenris adjusted and readjusted his battle gear. His sword was sharpened and ready. His armor secure. A small pack with supplies fastened to his side. It only contained bandages and a few poultices, just enough for treating light injuries. He didn’t want to bog himself down with too many items. Weight was the enemy of an agile fighter. 

Lavellan sat down and meditatively sharpened her blades with the time they had remaining. The only way Fenris could describe her was intense. Her posture was much more imposing when she finished and stood up to sheath her weapons. Eyes leveled and unemotional, like she was distancing herself from everything happening. Trying not to think too much.

Vivienne was trying her hardest to look bored, which made absolutely no sense to Fenris. What they were about to do what one of the most frightening things he’d ever considered doing. It was on par with the first time he decided to run from Danarius. When he first disobeyed. But after looking her over again he noticed all was not what it seemed. 

She kept flexing her fingers, little sparks forming at the tips. Calculated breaths with perfect timing. Danarius would do this right before a duel, despite the boast that he knew he could win without breaking a sweat. She was getting herself ready for a fight once inside. Good. Nothing was as dangerous as a prepared mage and luckily this one was on their side. 

Varric counted out his arrows and set them up in the quiver. He checked his crossbow and all the gears within. Varric had cause to be far more nervous than the rest of them. Lavellan had already been there once. Vivienne explored the Fade as a mage while sleeping like every other mage. And Fenris was fairly familiar with it from his own dreams. Dwarves could not dream, could not be mages. He imagined it was like a mountain dwarf seeing the surface for the first time; he didn’t know what to expect. 

“How likely is it that I’ll fall into the sky in there?” Varric tried joking with Lavellan. “The Fade isn’t governed by the same rules as out here, is it?”

“Worried Varric?” Lavellan asked, stretching her limbs and flexing her hand with the Anchor. 

“Scared shitless, Lavellan,” he admitted freely. “But I won’t abandon Hawke. Not again.”

Dog sauntered up to Fenris, excited and shifting back and forth on his paws. Fenris lowered himself to the beast and shook his head. Not this time. He needed to stay here. Fenris couldn’t spare his attention in the Fade to look out for Dog in addition to everyone else. Dog tried his hardest with a sad puppy face but Fenris held strong. 

"No,” he reiterated. “Stay.”

Dog whined again but sat down. Good boy. 

“It’s time,” Dagna shuffled up to them.   
  
“Understood,” Lavellan nodded and signalled the others to ready themselves. 

Everyone stood and took their positions behind Lavellan. Mages in a semicircle, soldiers ready behind them. The Inquisitor signaled Fenris over and he approached, nervous jitters in his stomach. 

“I need you to stand here,” she said, pointing to the spot. “If you could kneel that would be prefered so I can see where I’m aiming this thing.”

He took a knee in front of her and she put a hand on his shoulder. Her fingers were hot in opposition to her cold demeanor.

“Ir abelas. Varric tells me you prefer not to be touched but contact with you might narrow the focus according to all the research you did,” she informed him. It was good to know she’d done the reading as well. A small relief but better than none.

“Lavellan, we’ll wait back here until it’s open,” Varric announced from behind the mage line. “Don’t want to be in the line of fire...or whatnot.”

Vivienne slammed down her staff and called the attention of the mages. She told them to focus their energy on the Inquisitor, as if charging her like a staff. In slow steady amounts so as not to overload her. They respected her direction and responded in kind. Vivienne was a leader and it showed as they obeyed with a nod.

Lavellan took a deep breath and put her hand out. Fenris could barely see it out of the corner of his eye. Sparks, bright green ones getting larger and louder. Popping and sizzling in his ear, a noise akin to acid burning flesh off the bones. It gave him goosebumps resulting in a nervous swallow. 

“Think about Hawke, Fenris,” Lavellan whispered, her eyes closed. “Narrow the focus.”

Fenris lowered his gaze to the ground and closed his eyes. Hawke. His frame came into focus like a shadow getting closer. The features filled in slowly as light revealed him. Dark hair, tussled from a fun night not sleeping. A beard that was sorely in need of a trim. The warpaint he applied daily over his nose in honor of his sister’s sacrifice in Lothering and his family’s escape. 

His armor. His staff. His steps. His laugh.

“The veil is breaking,” Lavellan groaned, her fingers shaking. “Fenedhis,” she cursed. 

“What is wrong?” Fenris asked, unable to mask his concern.

“Nothing, keep focusing. I need to keep pushing the veil,” she said through gritted teeth. 

It smelled like burning flesh and turning to look showed Lavellan’s hand smoking on top of all the sparks. She kept whispering under her breath, mostly in elvish. He caught a few words in common such as ‘keep going’ and ‘just a little further’. 

“Inquisitor,” Fenris eyed the sizzling flesh and the weakening of the sparks. They were going out. 

“Look forward! Think about Hawke!” she commanded, a fierceness in her voice despite her pain. 

He looked ahead but it was hard to focus through her anguished gasps. She dug her nails into his back but he doubted she could tell. It wasn’t going to work. She was going to pass out at this rate. 

“Focus!” she yelled. “Or you will NEVER see him again! He will be lost FOREVER!”

Something snapped within his mind at they way she so plainly put it. His skin prickled with energy and flashed bright, tattoos shining. His eyes filled with light as he glared ahead. Nothing was going to keep him from Hawke. Not this. Not the Fade. 

Hawke. Hawke. Hawke. 

“I’m coming, Hawke,” Fenris promised. 

A beam of energy shot out of Lavellan’s hand making a loud crack, like lightning striking a tree. The only difference was being a few yards away from it. The shockwave knocked him, Lavellan, and half of the mages from their feet to the ground.

It was like being punched in the gut by Aveline in a brawling match. She won that one with gusto after finding out he cheated to win the arm wrestling contest, he remembered. The bruises took weeks to heal. And his head! His ears rang and if he didn’t know any better he’d think they were bleeding. He made a dizzying attempt to stand. Once he managed to bring himself to his feet he saw it. 

“The Fade,” Fenris whispered. 

It was a hole, nearly a foot off the ground. For a moment he thought his vision was still swimming but it was the rift that rippled and waved. Like oil and water swirling about. She really did have the power over the veil. After all those stories he could finally believe it now that he’d seen it. 

“Inquisitor,” addressed Vivienne, her tone motherly. “Do you need he-”

“I’m alright,” Lavellan dismissed the offered hand. “Just a little disoriented. Give me a minute and we’ll proceed.”

She quickly rubbed a poultice into her smoldering palm while swallowing down an exclamation. After a deep breath she swaddled a bandage around it and flexed the fingers. For an extra measure she slipped a glove on it. She then grasped a dagger, making sure her hold was still strong. It was.

“Ready?” she asked after getting to her feet. 

“When you are,” Fenris nodded and eyed the approaching Varric. 

“The sooner the better,” Varric looked uneasily at the warping rift. “We don’t want anything coming out of there to get the mages.”

“Indeed,” Vivienne agreed. “Let us press on then. I am eager to learn what the Fade has in store for us physical beings.”

They all looked through the plane as the edges crackled and popped. A distant buzzing faded in and out along with a metallic noise, like the echo of a sword hitting armor but constant. It was unnerving and worked its way into his flesh making it cold. Hawke was in there, all he had to do now was go in and get him.

“It’s better if you just run through, if you’re frightened,” Lavellan spoke. “Follow me.”

She backed up and waited for them to follow her lead. They lowered themselves and bolted right for the opening. At the last moment they jumped into the abyss that awaited them.

*****

Hot like summer at noon in Seheron, was his first thought. The air thick, stifling, like it was trying to choke out his airways. It was exponentially worse than the mirror portal Merrill had him walk through but it maintained that initial feeling. A tingling in the air that rubbed itself against his skin, like a crawling insect looking to bore its way in. 

He disliked it just as much as the mirror meeting place.

“What if we get lost?” was Varric’s first comment as he stared in awe of the immensity of the place. The sky and landscape went on for leagues. 

Fenris remembered something in his bag. He reached in and pulled out a ball of twine and tossed it at Varric. 

“Remind me to thank Daisy,” Varric chuckled while tying off the end. “If we ever get back that is.”

He almost expected nonstop talking from the mage once they entered but she remained silent, only her wide eyes saying what they all were thinking. It was so much larger and endless than she ever thought it would be. She even tested the air with a spell. The masked surprise on her face showed it did not react as she expected. 

“Staying still is a bad idea,” Lavellan told them and levelled her head at Fenris. “Which direction?”

Fenris wasn’t sure what to say. How would he know? Every direction looked the same and Hawke didn’t mark his paths with any symbols. But perhaps he could feel him? This was after all a place governed by emotion and instinct. He closed his eyes and brought Hawke to the forefront of his mind.

“Not certain,” Fenris shook his head. “But that way feels…”

“-right?” Varric asked when Fenris didn’t elaborate quickly enough for him. 

“No, it just...feels,” Fenris rubbed his temple. 

“Better than nothing,” Lavellan looked around, keeping her eyes on their surroundings. “Lead the way Fenris.”

He wanted to run and call out for Hawke but from the moment he thought it he came to the conclusion it was a terrible idea. Demons could hear him and react to the desperation in his voice. Desire demons taking Hawke’s form and delaying their likelihood of finding the real one. 

And he couldn’t handle cutting down dozens of Hawke, calling out to him for help or begging him not to kill him. He would go insane before they ever left. It terrified him to even think of it. Covered in the blood of all those Hawkes only to find out that he’d accidentally killed the real one. 

“Calm down Fenris,” Vivienne spoke. “I can feel your despair and fear. Such thoughts are dangerous here my dear.”

Fenris nodded and tried to clear his mind. 

They walked and walked. They climbed over sharp spires and jagged rocks to get a better view but only spied even more treacherous landscape. It was frustratingly disheartening to reach the apex of the hills only to find more in view. 

Demons or manifestations of their fears showed up after an hour of searching. Lavellan dispatched many of them without hesitation. The rest paused a moment in uncertainty before drawing their weapons to fight. Vivienne gasped and Fenris stared in wide eyed shock. Varric even took a step backwards in fright before pulling his crossbow and firing a myriad of arrows at them. 

It was only afterward did he realize they all saw something different. 

Lavellan just huffed, saying that spiders were disgusting. Varric came forward and said he’d seen nugs, poisoned by the red lyrium, crawling towards him in anguish. Fenris’s fearlings shook him to his core, an old fear he’d thought forgotten by the years.

Danarius once owned an entire litter of dogs, ones he trained from birth to be vicious. They may as well have been pit wolves. Fenris was thrown into a ring with them after the markings were burned into him, to test his abilities. When the match was over he was covered in the blood of every single dog. Organs and hearts were strewn into nearly every corner of the ring and cheers from the Magister’s guests. He looked up to see his master smile, the victory his, despite the death’s of what once were his most beloved pets.

Now he had a new favorite pet.

He pitied the creatures but it was either them or him. In the weeks following that night he had nightmares of the animals getting their revenge. His guilt was so strong that he resolved to let them have it while he slept. To show that he was more than the blood thirsty wolf Danarius had named him. But the dreams always ended the same, Fenris eating their hearts with a wolfish grin. 

Those dogs came at him again with their injured bodies, limping and baring their teeth. He had no choice, he had to end them. 

But he said nothing to his companions. Like Vivienne, he kept his fears to himself. It was no one's business but their own. 

They kept going, searching between crevasses, the ball of twine long spent. After that point Lavellan started marking the rocks with a piece of chalk every time they turned or changed direction. 

“Bianca?” Varric blinked, looking into the distance.

He nearly took a step off the path towards her but Vivienna put a hand on his shoulder, shaking her head. There was no way it could really be her. Think about it, she implored him. But she was asking for him. They could finally have the life together they always wanted. And here no one could stop them.

“That is no kind of life,” Vivienne told him. “It would be so easy to say yes but it would not be real...And it cheapens the memory of your love.”

“I...you’re right,” Varric nodded and returned to the path but not without a pained look over his shoulder.

They continued on and in the distance they heard it. Lightning. Magic. Someone casting spells in the Fade. Fenris’s heart and his pace quickened substantially. The others kept up with him, racing their way towards the noise.

Just as they arrived they found Hawke surround by many little nightmares. He swung his staff and clocked one hard enough to knock it aside. He tried another bolt but it fizzled out just as something jumped for his throat. With a cry his legs gave out but the sudden drop made the creature crash into a pillar. And now his stance was severely compromised.

“Hawke!”

Fenris jumped in and slammed his sword down in a vertical sweep, slicing it in half. Varric shot into the ones on the edge while Vivienne fired icicles into the fray, some of them fizzling out but many hit their mark. Lavellan snuck in and stuck both her daggers into the back of a Shade. It screamed a feral yell before collapsing in on itself. The Inquisitor kept on going, taking shade after shade while Fenris battled them back and away from Hawke.

He found him. His relief was so overwhelming that he could cry in the midst of battle but he held it in. Watery eyes did not make for accurate strikes. Out of the corner of his eye Hawke was trying to bring himself back to his feet, using his staff for support. He was struggling and wincing back the intense pain in his severely sprained ankle. 

Fenris couldn’t look long before he was being swarmed again by the little fearlings but he kept stealing glances over whenever he could. Hawke finally stood and leant his back against the boulder with a raspy gasp, tired from all the work. There was blood streaming down from a cut on his forehead and into his eye.

When the last enemy was down with the rest of his brethren Fenris abandoned the sword immediately to the ground with a loud clang and ran to Hawke. Finally, his search was over. 

“Stay away, I’ll...fire,” Hawke rasped and pointed his staff at Fenris. 

He stopped in mid step, staring at the end of the stave, an old fear rising up in his stomach. 

“This...it's a…” Hawke shook his head and tried blinking the blood out of his eye. “Some kind of...trick. Think you’d learn by now.”

“Hawke,” Fenris tried to speak but the mage shook his staff to silence him.

“Not again,” he sighed, trying to get his breath back. “Not another...I can’t...so many--I just--no more…”

Fenris didn’t understand. Didn’t he know it was really him? To be told to stay back or risk being blown away…

“Threw away your weapon,” Hawke chuckled, as he burned the skin above his eye with a thumb. Cauterized. “Like...I’ll fall for that...again. I’m not stupid.”

“It’s me Hawke,” Fenris tried to explain, his voice cracking.

“Hawke, it’s us,” Varric strode up next to Fenris and Hawke turned the staff towards him, his eyes suspicious. 

Lavellan was right, he wasn’t himself. Living in this hellscape had poisoned his mind. Hawke was never this paranoid before. The things that must have transpired had him suspicious of everything he saw. If he could get in closer, he’d see. He’d know it was Fenris, not an illusion.

“Varric too? Getting desperate aren’t you?” Hawke shifted and stepped closer to a crevasse. He was thinking of jumping into it to lose them. “He’d never come here. Not enough music…the tavern is closed here.”

Hawke laughed weakly and edged closer to the fissure. Fenris took a step towards him and Hawke stiffened, readjusting the point of his staff. There was no recognition in his eyes. Hawke was scared and his body on autopilot. Attack things that move or try to mess with his head. Keep running. Sleep for a little bit. Run some more. Attack again. Repeat. 

He took another step closer with his arms out to show his lack of weapons. Varric warned him to be careful while Hawke looked over him and held his staff tight. 

“Stay back, I don’t want...I don’t want to hurt…” Hawke swallowed, panic choking his breath. “Fenris is that...no...not you. I don’t want to...I can’t…”

“Put it down Hawke,” Fenris stepped carefully closer, though his instinct when looking at the business end of a staff screamed at him to run away. A conditioned response he was fighting with each step. 

“Fenris?” Hawke whispered and the staff faltered for a second. “I want to...believe but…”

The mage absently ran a hand over his torso, there was tear in the clothes but the injury below it was unmistakable. A stab or clawmark that breached more than just the surface. Hawke burned this injury too. It was easier than attempting healing magic that he was unskilled in. 

Did a demon wear Fenris’s face while trying to get in close for the kill? Did Hawke incinerate it when he realized it wasn’t him? Did it still look like Fenris as it writhed and screamed in pain, blaming Hawke for hurting him? How much did that break him inside? Doing the one thing he never wanted ever do?

“Believe me,” Fenris pleaded and came closer.

Hawke opened his mouth to say something but lost his footing and slipped with a shout. His staff dropped down into the crevasse. His arm instinctively reached out and grabbed for the edge. Fenris dropped and grabbed his arm with both hands. 

Fenris would have immediately pulled him up but he hesitated when a fearful Hawke still pointed an open palm in his direction. Fenris flinched when a finger twitched at the start of casting but held tight to the arm. He kept expecting a fireball or jolt of lightning. Fenris opened his eyes to find the spell had died down, incomplete by the caster’s choice.

“Fenris,” Hawke’s eyes widened finally in recognition. A demon would have dropped him to protect itself. “It...can’t be. How--I thought--Maker I was going to…”

“Give me your other arm Hawke,” Fenris begged.

His arm reached up and Fenris took it. He called to Varric and the others to pull him back. A pair of arms grabbed each leg and hauled the both of them up the cliff face. Once they were up Fenris tackled Hawke to the ground with a hug.

“Hawke,” he mumbled into his side. 

“Fenris,” Hawke winced through the hug that was crushing him but smiled and squeezed him tight too. “It is you...are you...are you crying, Fenris?”

“No,” Fenris rubbed his tear stricken face into him. 

“I know this isn’t the time to ask,” Hawke nuzzled into Fenris’s neck. 

“Ask,” said Fenris.

“But I’m incredibly hungry...got anything to eat?” Hawke nibbled on his ear with a chuckle.

“Ha...hahaha…” Fenris laughed. He started to laugh harder and cry in equal measure, unable to contain himself. That was Hawke all around. It was why he loved him, that undefeatable good humor. He squeezed him tighter and nodded. “Just dog biscuits.”

“Don’t joke, I’ll eat them,” Hawke placed his hands on Fenris’s face and tilted his head up to gaze at it. “I almost gave up...on ever seeing your face again. Only imitations of it, paraded around to fool me. To have it...for real...its...”

And now Hawke was crying too. 

He leaned in and kissed all over Fenris’s face. His forehead, his tear stricken cheeks, his lips, his chin, his hair, all of it. Fenris tried kissing too but Hawke moved too quickly for him so he only got bits of beard and lips. 

“We should leave,” Lavellan finally spoke, climbing down from behind a rock formation. “You can celebrate once we get out.”

Fenris helped Hawke up and shouldered him for the trip back. Lavellan led the way. Fenris didn’t say a word for the longest time, instead he only looked at Hawke with relief. At one point Hawke fell asleep on his shoulder and he needed Varric to help take turns carrying him. All the dead weight was too much for one person but Fenris kept his hand curled into Hawke’s. 

“You did it,” Varric chuckled. “Actually did it...got Hawke back.”

“The Inquisitor did,” Fenris shook his head. “If not for her-”

“If not for your dedication and perseverance, we never would have even attempted this,” Vivienne countered.

“It’s true, Broody,” said Varric. “Just accept the praise. Even the Inquisitor is ecstatic it worked.”

Not that it showed, thought Fenris. She looked just as sour faced as before. The only difference was a lightness in her steps but he attributed that to staying quiet to listen for more monsters. 

Fenris switched off with Varric when they reached the end start of yarn on the ground. Varric leaned down and picked it up, rolling it back up as they went. Vivienne kept making pensive faces as she took in the landscape and making silent affirmations to the theories running through her head. Fenris simply listened to the even breathing of the mage on his back. 

He smelled terrible. Like blood and sweat and any number of different things. Hawkes fingers and palms sported some of the worst calices he’d ever seen, many of them cut open and burned shut again. His arms and legs had over a dozen bite marks and his clothes were torn from running, snagging on rocks, and damage from demons. His eyes sported dark circles from lack of real sleep.

As soon as they got back he’d wash him up. Get him some new clothes. Feed him. Let him sleep for a week.

And then he would bed him mercilessly. 

“I missed this,” Hawke mumbled into his ear. “Being close to you.”

“Me too,” said Fenris with a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke groaned and sighed. “This was my fault...Everything is my...I’m sorry. Can you forgive...”

Hawke fell back to sleep, holding tight to Fenris as if afraid of letting go again. It was just as hard on Hawke, probably harder considering he had no way of knowing if rescue was coming. Fenris shifted him into a more comfortable position and pushed ahead. Soon they would be out. 

They just had to keep going.

When they popped out the other side of the portal it was chaos. At least four rage demons and twice as many shades. The spirit boy Cole and mage Dorian were keeping them back as the weakened mages ran for the exit. Some were being carried by soldiers. The remaining soldiers were flanking enemies and taking them down.

Lavellan went right into the fight and Vivienne joined them, glad to be able to use her skills again to their full potential. Varric pointed to a spot to put Hawke down until they took care of the mess. Fenris ran over and gently put him down but hesitated in leaving him.

What if-

“He’ll be fine, I’ll fire from here,” Varric reassured him.

Dog barked proudly and guarded the spot as well, his tail wagging so fast and hard that the beast’s rear was swinging back and forth. Fenris nodded reluctantly and Varric shoved his sword into his hands. After one more look on the slumbering Hawke he ran into the battle. 

He slashed and stabbed, his tattoos lit. In the midst of the battle he actually smiled. This fight was nothing compared to all he went through to get there. He could feel a grin spreading. Success. He was just so damn happy to finally be whole again. If started laughing would it scare the holy hell out of the demons, he wondered. Them and the Inquisition. They’d think he lost his mind. 

“That one’s mine,” Lavellan told him.

“Not if I get there first,” Fenris smiled, a laugh on the edge of his words. 

“Too late, Inquisitor,” Dorian chuckled from further away. “Got him while you were gabbing. Gossip has no place on the battlefield.”

“Speak for yourself, Dorian,” Vivienne sprayed a wall of ice onto a trio of shades. “You’ll never guess what I learned from Cole.”

“I thought you didn’t speak to abominations Madame enchanter,” Dorian said, scandalized. “But do tell me anyway, I’m all ears.”

“You certainly are,” Vivienne jabbed and Dorian gave her ‘tsk-tsk’ look.

“You can’t tell,” Cole mumbled. “She will be mad.”

“Oh, now I must know,” Dorian grinned as he burst a shade into flames. 

“Later,” Lavellan interrupted the light hearted conversation in the midst of bloodshed. “Focus on the task at hand.”

They took down the remaining demons with ease. Vivienne freezing the rage demons while Fenris shattered them. Cole and Lavellan working in tandem to dizzy an enemy and then sink a blade right into it while confused. Varric rained a hail of arrows down on a grouping of demons. While they were shielding themselves from above Dorian landed a fireball explosion among their ranks. 

When all was over Lavellan tore off her glove and removed the bandages from it. There were still obvious signs of singed flesh all around her hand but she thrust it toward the opening and emerald lightning shot forth. The end of it stitched the hole together with sparks. Then she closed her fist and pulled, completely erasing the evidence of a tear. 

It brought Lavellan to her knees for a moment but she lifted herself up with an exasperated sigh. Once again she pressed a poultice that probably stung like a million bees from the wince on her face. She walked towards Fenris while wrapping it up all over again.

“We’ll head back to Skyhold in a few days,” she informed him, tucking the last of the bandage away. “Should be enough time to rest up without using up all of our supplies.”

“Thank you,” Fenris nodded his head. He looked to Hawke, who gave him a gentle wave, and then back to her. “I…”

“What are you still doing talking to me?” Lavellan asked and gestured to Hawke. “He’s right there. Go to him.”

He nodded with a thankful smile and ran off. She watched him with a soft gaze, grateful to have at least partially undone one of her dreadful mistakes. With a cough she cleared her throat, popped in another candy, and left the two of them very much alone.

Fenris knelt down to Hawke and embraced him again, squeezing the air out of him.

“I could get used to this,” Hawke chuckled.

“Wait until you’ve healed,” Fenris warned. “You’ll get more than embraces.”

“Looking forward to it,” Hawke yawned with a smile. “Carry me?”

They slowly made their way to the camp and the moment inside a tent Hawke collapsed into the blankets. Fenris fell in with him, physically and emotionally exhausted. They pulled each other close, their faces within inches of each other. Hawke blinked his eyes slowly, taking in all the features of Fenris’s face. Each time that his eyes closed for a few seconds Hawke worriedly opened them again.

“Hawke?”

“I keep thinking this is a dream. Like before. And I’ll open my eyes…” he spoke, his voice shaky.

“I’ll be here,” Fenris promised. “I will never leave your sight again.”

He reassured him with a long kiss, something he’d been aching to do for months. Fenris pressed his lips into Hawke’s chapped lips, his fingers running through the man’s beard. Hawke was stiff at first, as if disbelieving what was happening, but then he reacted by kissing back. His hands pulled Fenris’s face closer while fingers curled around his ears. 

“Fenris,” he breathed, his nerves a little more at ease.

“Sleep,” Fenris whispered back. 

Fenris planted gentle kisses on Hawke’s face and fingers. Eventually Hawke fell asleep in his arms, a tired smile on his face.  He slept for nearly two days straight, only waking long enough to panic in his new surroundings and eat, before going back to sleep. Fenris took the time to wipe away as much dirt and blood as possible with a wet rag while Hawke slept. A real bath would have to wait until they found a river.

His panic attacks worried Fenris but considering everything Hawke went through it was not unexpected. He might never fully recover mentally from all the things he’d seen and done in the Fade. He’d likely retain the fear that nothing was real for the rest of his life. All Fenris could do was try to prove otherwise as often as possible.

On the third day Hawke seemed more himself. He came out of the tent, stretched and took a seat at the main fire. Fenris half expected him to be swarmed by the soldiers and mages that looked up to him, asking the Champion for a million stories, but they seemed to keep their distance under the watchful eyes of Lavellen. She must have told them to allow them their space for which Fenris was grateful.

He was laughing finally and tossing out jokes to Varric who returned them in kind. They talked about what would happen after all this. Would Varric come back with him? Home to Kirkwall? No, he was going to stay and help Lavellan for a bit. She would need all the help she could get, especially in the next couple of months.

“I can’t wait to be an Uncle,” Varric chuckled and Lavellan rolled her eyes. 

“Oh, family member having a baby?” asked Dorian, musing on what dwarven babies looked like. Were they born with beards, he wondered.

“You could say that,” Varric laughed and Lavellan shoved him with her elbow. Fenris and Hawke smiled and laughed as well. 

“What’s the jest? Am I missing something?” Dorian crossed his arms in annoyance. “I do hate being left out of joke.”

“Your adoptive daughter, correct?” Vivienne gave a knowing smile.

“Yeah,” Varric winked and Vivienne giggled to herself.

“Now I am truly annoyed. Is this some kind of ‘keep Dorian out’ tale? When did Varric adopt a daughter?” Dorian furrowed a brow and messed with his mustache.

“Around the time the Conclave went, isn’t that right?” Hawke asked with a grin, elbowing Varric. 

“You could say that,” Varric repeated, grabbing his belly with another laugh.

It took nearly an hour for Dorian to catch on. Lavellan finally resigned and told him straight out. Afterwards there were congratulations all around. She smiled, a real one, and accepted their thanks. Dorian resolved to tell the others the moment they returned. Varric couldn’t wait to see the look on Cassandra’s face; not only for the news but on top of the dozens of rabbits in her room. It would be a sight to see.

Dark quickly overtook them. Lavellan reminded them that they would be leaving in the morning for the trip back and to get plenty of rest, though she looked directly as Fenris when she said this. It may have had something to do with the fact that his hand had been on Hawke’s thigh since he woke. Or it was the amorous gaze he kept giving him. Or maybe it was the discrete scooching closer and closer until Fenris was sitting on the ground between the mages legs, lounging against them.

Normally he would not be so affectionate in public but he hadn’t seen Hawke in nearly half a year. And he’d almost died. Needy might be exaggerating it but he definitely didn’t want to be more than a yard from Hawke at all times. And now that the Champion was safe Fenris was welcome to have less than modest thoughts. 

“Up we go,” Hawke encouraged and pulled Fenris to his feet. 

“Take care Hawke,” said Varric. “And Fenris…”

“Hmm?” Fenris furrowed his brow. 

“Be gentle with him,” he winked and the others chuckled with him.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Hawke grinned back while being led away by Fenris. 

The moment they were alone in the tent, Hawke initiated contact with a deep kiss. How he’d missed this part of Hawke. For the longest time Fenris had to start everything, so that Hawke knew it was okay to touch him. Once he learned how to read Fenris, Hawke began nearly all their interactions. 

His hands slid over his skin, rubbing the tattoo lines gently with tingly bits of magic. Fenris let out an appreciative sigh. Only Hawke could do this without causing him intense pain. More hungry kisses that Fenris returned with equal fervor. But the moment Fenris placed a hand on Hawke’s side he froze, his body went rigid struck by bad memories. Fenris found Hawke’s eyes unfocused, his breath still. 

“Sorry,” Hawke shook his head, trying to clear it. “I...was just...somewhere else.”

“If you wish we can stop,” Fenris lowered his eyes. “Until you’re ready.”

“No,” said Hawke. “I want to keep going.”

Hawke nuzzled into Fenris’s neck and kissing his pulse, sucking on the flesh there. Fenris melted into the kisses with a needy sigh. The larger man picked him up and laid him out on the ground, then his hands slowly busied themselves removing one article of clothing at a time. Fenris helped him with this endeavor by tossing his gauntlets aside while Hawke took care of the breastplate.

Soon Fenris was shirtless and he leaned up to remove Hawke’s vestments as well. Gently, he raised the shirt over the scars and healing injuries. He sensed trepidation on Hawke’s part so he did his best to reassure him.

“This is real Hawke,” Fenris told him. 

“Right,” Hawke swallowed and he tried to smile. “Real. Not the Fade.”

The shirt came off, exposing his chest. Fenris placed a hand on each side of Hawke’s torso and rubbed them up to his pecs. Hawke shivered and in a good way. He let out a relaxed breath and placed his own hands on top of Fenris’s, following them wherever they travelled. 

“Better?” Fenris asked.

“A little,” Hawke nodded. “My turn.”

Hawke took Fenris’s hands at the wrists and pushed them both back down to the ground. Another thing only Hawke was capable of doing without causing a panic in Fenris, holding him down as his mouth ravished his skin. Despite the nature of binding his hands, Hawke was exceptionally gentle and never once bruised him. 

The mage’s lips travelled lower and lower until he let go of Fenris’s hands and used them to paw his body instead. Fenris took this opportunity to thread his fingers in Hawke’s hair. He responded with a gruff sigh as the fingers massaged his scalp.

“Fenris,” he breathed out, hot and ragged. He slowly lowered his slacks, kissing at the newly exposed skin.

It was maddening. To go so long without touch, not even touching himself. His body was so sensitive to every warm breath, every scrape of his beard, every touch of his fingers and lips. It was no surprise to either of them when Hawke revealed Fenris’s aching boner.

Hawke kissed and stroked it while Fenris bit down on his own knuckles to keep quiet. It wasn’t like they were in a private room with walls to surround him. He still wanted to maintain his dignity on the way back to Skyhold and that would not happen if the entire camp heard him moaning. 

Fenris clenched his hand tight in Hawke’s hair when the mage began to go down on him. Slow at first, as if trying to pace himself but as each second went by Hawke became hungrier and hungrier, realizing how much he’d wanted this for months and not willing to slow down. Now was not the time for moderation, he wanted the entire meal plus dessert now, damn the consequences. 

“Hawke!” Fenris urgently whispered, holding back a groan as Hawke deep throated him. “Slower!”

“Never,” Hawke mumbled, stuffing the cock back in his mouth. 

Hawke’s fingers curled around Fenris’s hips and pulled at him, forcing his cock to thrust in. It was too much so Fenris continued the pace he set for him. Hawke’s fingers began to move and squeeze at Fenris’s buttocks next.

“Do we have any oils?” Hawke gasped upon releasing the cock from his mouth. He continued to breath needily on him and stroke.

Fenris panted and nodded. His hand rummaged about trying to find his pack without knowing exactly what direction to search. He found it eventually and dug his hand into the open bag. Once he got a his fingers around it Hawke spread his legs and began tonguing his asshole. 

He managed to stifle his moan and pass down the corked flask. It was supposed to be used for soothing muscles but it could double for what they needed it for. Probably without any adverse side effects. Hawke stopped long enough to slick his fingers with the liquid and began to press them inside him, one at a time.

“Hawke,” Fenris moaned into the blanket in an effort to stifle himself. 

“I missed this, you have no idea how much,” Hawke spoke against his hot flesh. “The thought of never being able to touch you again, to hear you...devastating…”

Fenris felt another finger enter and stretch him further. God he wanted more than this. 

“Let me up Hawke,” Fenris panted. 

Hawke allowed him to his knees. He bent over and positioned himself, ass raised and desperate to be filled. Hawke’s oiled fingers rubbed against his hips, hooking his hands in tight as he slowly pressed himself inside. The oil made it easy and his entire length was swallowed up.

“Fenris,” Hawke gasped, then swallow. “I...oh...I won’t last long.”

“Nor I,” Fenris bit at his lips and shifted a bit for comfort. 

Hawke closed his eyes, trying to stay calm, before he began thrusting into his lover. Fenris felt large hands squeeze his ass tight as they rocked together. 

Fenris came first. All the stimulation beforehand brought him incredibly close to the edge so after a mere dozen thrusts Fenris arched as he came all over the bedding. Hawke managed to wrap a hand around his mouth just as he was about to cry out which only added fuel to his fire. Fenris suckled his fingers, pleased with the additional feeling of being filled. 

“Fenris,” Hawke whispered before biting into his shoulder. 

Hawke wasn’t far behind him. Another six powerful thrusts had him shaking and pressing his forehead into the elf’s back with a groan as he climaxed. It was not muffled but perhaps it wasn’t as loud as he thought. Maybe no one heard. Hawke took his time catching his breath, placing gentle kisses on Fenris’s skin in between pants. 

“When we get back home,” Hawke took a deep breath. “We’re not leaving the bedroom...for at least...three days…”

“A week,” Fenris argued and sat up. “Three days for you. Three for me. And a day in between to rest.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Hawke chuckled.

They cleaned up, at least as much as they could and settled in. Hawke on his back and Fenris nestled onto his chest. Hawke stretched an arm out around Fenris and held him tight while the elf slung an arm over his stomach. 

“Thanks for not giving up on me,” Hawke smiled, leaned forward a little and kissed the top of his head. “Things will be a little strange for a while…”

“As often as things happen to you, strange should be your name, Hawke,” Fenris chuckled. 

“Haha, I suppose that’s right,” Hawke laughed, then rubbed his forehead. He covered his eyes with his hand for a moment and sighed.

“Hawke?” asked Fenris.

“Promise me this is real again?” he asked, his tone shaky. 

“This is real. I’m real.” Fenris rubbed his stomach gently and kissed his skin. 

“Sorry, I’ll likely ask a hundred times,” Hawke apologized and shook his head, disappointed in himself. 

“And I will be here to answer every time,” Fenris reminded him. “You need not apologize to me.”

“I love you Fenris, you know that don’t you?” Hawke turned over so that they could face one another. 

“Of course,” he nodded and pulled himself in closer. “And I you.”

Lavellan told them the next day she’d had a talk with all her soldiers and mages. They were to tell no one what transpired there and if they had to talk about it to speak of it as a failed mission. It didn’t work and in fact they’d had a fatality in the form of an Elven mercenary. Then they were to follow up with ‘that’s what happens when one messes with the laws of nature’. 

“It’ll keep the Chantry and all other manner of people from bothering you,” Lavellan informed him. “Since you’re the only one to survive the Fade after an extended period. If word got out you’d never be left alone.”

“I should send word to Carver,” Hawke scratched his head. “Guess he’s head of the family now, being that I’m dead.”

“You’ve never looked better Hawke,” Varric joked. 

“We’re dead,” Fenris corrected. 

“Your faces are well known in the cities, at least yours is Hawke,” Varric reminded him. “Might be a good idea to stay hidden for a while. Maybe shave. Good thing you left your staff in the Fade.”

“I always wanted a vacation,” Hawke smiled and rubbed his beard, thinking about what it would look like gone. Dog was at his side and barked happily. Fenris gave the dog a thorough head rub before standing up straight.

So that was how it would have to work. Once Fenris and Hawke made it back across the Western Approach Lavellan would provide them with two horses and some supplies. They would travel on their own from there on. Avoiding major cities would be easy enough and they could visit towns whenever they needed supplies. It wouldn’t be easy but it was better than being swarmed by folk wanting answers about the Fade, the events of the past months, and his connection to Kirkwall’s troubles. 

Finally Fenris could have Hawke all to himself.

Once they arrived at the Iron Bull’s camp at the edge of the desert they made a trip to a nearby river. Hawke only got a small wash back at Adamant using the well water. It didn’t compare to the cleanliness of the river. Fenris watched as he washed up, then with the help of Dorian got a haircut and a shave. 

“He looks different,” Lavellan commented as the cut finished up. Hawke was checking himself out in the river’s reflection with a grin.

“Only superficially,” Fenris added just as Hawke lost his balance and face planted in the water. “Still the same old Hawke.”

“Never the less, it’ll help when you travel,” she chuckled. “Where will you go?”

“Not certain,” Fenris shrugged and fiddled with his gauntlets. “North, where it’s warmer. What about you?”

“Hmm?” 

“What will you do now?” Fenris gestured to her torso with his eyes. 

“Become a mother, apparently,” she sighed. “I thought leading the Inquisition was hard.”

Hawke wandered up and interrupted them, his clothes soaked down to his shoes. He began warming himself with magic to dry his clothes. 

“You’ll do great. And you have plenty of friends to help you,” said Hawke. “Varric loves children, especially little ones.”

“I know,” Lavellan smiled, remembering some event. “I’ll be grateful for any help I get but…”

Nothing would compare to having the father a part of it all. That was what she wanted to say but she clipped her sentence short. She slipped a hand into her doublet and crinkled the paper within. The hard edge to her face softened. 

“He’ll come back,” Hawke assured her but her face said she didn’t believe him.

“If not, go to him,” Fenris added and took a step closer to Hawke.

“One day I might be able to, until then, I can only wait,” she nodded. “Good luck. I hope you find all that you desire.”

“Already found it,” Fenris eyed Hawke and smirked. “But thank you.”

“Be safe Lavellan,” Hawke gave her a gentle hug instead of a handshake. “And take care of Varric for me?”

“I promised before that I would. It still stands,” Lavellan nodded and returned the hug. 

She reminded him to send word if he needed anything from the Inquisition. And to send it under a pseudonym for his own safety. One could never be too careful. They understood and in the morning they went their separate ways, the Inquisition heading east while Hawke and Fenris went north. 

Fenris and Hawke looked out on the landscape from atop their horses. So much land; there had to be a place for them to live out a few quiet years without interruption. Fenris looked over at Hawke to find him rubbing his face where his beard used to be, making a disappointed face. He would miss that facial hair, he could admit, but they’d have time enough for it to grow back.  
  
Now they had time enough for anything. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter!
> 
> Please, if you noticed any terrible spelling errors, unreadable grammar, or just blatant incorrect word usage, tell me and I will do my best to fix those problems.
> 
> I appreciate constructive criticism and encouraging words but they aren't necessary for a story to continue. If you have interesting thoughts or notions on where a story should head please tell me. I love hearing other peoples ideas!


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